Then he got to his feet and struck off at an angle, only to be cut off by another cowboy, who yelled breathlessly and then fell flat on the brush. Rex had seen him fall, and it struck him as very funny, but he did not have enough breath left to laugh.
He changed his course, which took him to an open space in the brush, where he stopped for a moment to try and get his bearings. And almost at the same moment he heard a bullet scream past his ear, and from on the slope of a hill came the pop of a revolver.
Another bullet plucked at the sleeve of his shirt, and the third one struck a rock behind him and went zeeing off through the brush.
‘Stop shootin’, you damn fool!’ yelled a voice. ‘That ain’t old man Lane; that’s the crazy jigger!’
Then it seemed to Rex that cowboys came smashing through the brush from every direction. He did not move, as they came up to him. It seemed that they were all swearing at him. Spike Cahill faced him, breathing heavily, purple from the hard run.
‘So you’re the jigger who busted through the winder, eh?’ snarled Spike. ‘What was the big idea?’
Rex was too short of breath to even answer a question. He grinned at Spike, and Spike knocked him flat on his back with a right-hand punch.
‘Don’t do that, Spike,’ said Bowen. ‘This damn ginny is crazy.’
‘Crazy, hell!’ gritted Spike. ‘He led us out here to give that dirty murderer a chance to fade out. Git up, you damn lizard!’
Rex got slowly to his feet, his lips red with blood. There were tears in his eyes, and they thought he was crying because he was hurt. Spike grasped him by the left arm, sinking his fingers deep.