“Jud Bailey? Oscar, Bailey is dead!”
“No-o-o,” drawled Oscar. “All he got is bullet in his arm.”
“But—why—didn’t he go into the canyon last night?”
“He yumped,” said Oscar. “Ve missed him, and he valked to de ranch.”
Bob Stickler stirred and managed to sit up. He rubbed his head and stared around, looking at each of them separately, as though trying to reason out what this was all about. Then he tilted his head and looked up at the canyon walls. The professor was moving his arms and legs, as he recovered. The three men watched them. Consciousness came quickly to the professor, and with it came realization. Then he sat up, flexing his legs.
Stickler started to get up, but Oscar went over to him, and the manager of the Yellow Warrior sat down again.
“Yust stay like you vere,” said Oscar.
Another man was coming down the canyon. It was Frijole. He broke into the open, gun in hand, and stood there, staring at them.
“Velcome de party, Freeholey,” grinned Oscar.