Shorty answered, with a gulp in his throat, "So, you're alive? That's good."
"But the Tenderfoot?"
"Oh, we got him out all right."
Shorty was wrenching at a small beam which lay across La Mancha's shoulder.
"No bones broken; but he hasn't woke up. Here, that takes the weight off you. How do you feel?"
"Middling," said the Blackguard, closing his eyes again. "Are the horses all right?"
"Only scared."
"Ride up, one of you; fetch the Burrows girl with some tintacks and the family gum-pot. Right arm broken above the elbow. Just like my confounded luck. They'll fine me another month's pay for—breaking—leave." And then he fainted.
* * * * * *
The Blackguard groaned as he woke up. "Beg pardon, didn't mean to," he said; then opening his eyes, "Are you the Burrows girl, or a Christmas-card angel?"