“Well, what's to keep a man from having a grub-stake and a spraint leg simultaneous? You come with me, and I'll show you Bob Graham who's got both.”
“Huh!” said Johnny.
“I can't tell you all Bob's story, but there's a woman into it, his wife,—yes, sir. Say, talk about throw-downs! Why, he's got yours and mine beat to a pulp. Ain't it tough the way women do?—how they show you the high places and then give you the laugh? Say, Mr. Severance, there was reasons why I couldn't give it to you straight about Bob without consulting him. If you feel afraid of anything——”
“What of?” demanded Johnny quickly.
“Durned if I know, but some people are timider than others,” said Bunny, with an oblique glance.
“You show me this friend of yours,” said Johnny.
Mr. Bunny led the way back down the trail to the point where Johnny had previously seen him disappear. They climbed a hill and entered a small bottom. Here, prone on his back and gazing peacefully up at the hot sky, was a gentleman of singularly unprepossessing exterior. When aware that his solitude was being invaded he uttered sundry heartrending groans and fell to nursing his right leg, which was elaborately bandaged in strips torn from a blanket.
“Sh—” said Bunny, over his shoulder to Johnny. “Sh—ain't it pitiful?”
The groans were continued with increasing vigor.
“Bob!” whispered Mr. Bunny. “Bob,—old pardner!”