“That’s so—but——”
“Never mind the ‘buts.’” And Tresler’s keen, honest eyes looked squarely into the seared face of the wild cowpuncher.
For a moment the men stood around looking on with lowering faces, eyeing the prostrate man furtively. But Tresler’s attitude gave them no encouragement, and even Arizona felt the influence of his strong personality. Suddenly, as though with a struggle, the cowboy swung round on his fellows and his high-pitched tones filled the silent room.
“Come right on, boys. Guess he’s right. We’ll git.” And he moved toward the door.
And the men, after the slightest possible hesitation, passed out in his wake. Tresler waited until the door had closed behind the last of them, then he turned to the injured man.
“Feeling better, Joe?”
“Feelin’ better? Why, yes, I guess.”
Joe’s answer came readily, but in a weak voice.
“No bones broken?”
“Bones? Don’t seem.”