But Slim merely continued to swear, although he was able to walk back to the bunk-house without assistance. He had a lump over his left ear, a bruised nose, and some skin off his right knuckles.
He blinked in the lamplight and tried to grin.
“Talk about it,” urged Honey.
“Talk about it, eh? Well, I dunno what to talk about. After I left the bunk-house I went to git my bronc. Didn’t see a danged soul around there, but when I led my horse out I runs slap-dab into somebody. I thought it was one of you boys, comin’ out to see if I was gettin’ started.
“I started to say somethin’, when I got the flash of a six-gun barrel, which almost knocked my nose off. It did jist scrape my nose. I couldn’t see the feller very good, but I took a smash at him with my right fist, and I think I hit that ⸺ gun. And then I got a wallop on the head and I seen all kinds of fireworks. It jist keeled me over, and I ’member tryin’ to yell for help. The rest of it is kinda hazy. Wheee-e! I’ve shore got me an awful headache.”
“But who in ⸺ was it?” wondered Honey. “Is there somebody tryin’ to lay yuh out, Slim?”
“Must be. Feel of that bump.”
“Honey,” said Hashknife, “you better go up to the house and tell the girls what that shootin’ was all about. Some of them bullets hit the house. And bring back a pan of hot water, so we can fix Slim’s head.”
Honey raced for the house and Slim sat down on a bunk. He was still a little dazed.
“Yore bronc is still there by the corral fence,” said Sleepy.