“He was—” said Hozie dryly. “He was a big bass when he was hooked, but a sucker when he was landed.”
“Uh-huh. Say, that Hatton girl is shore a dinger. I never did see hair and skin like she’s got. I’d be scared to touch her.”
“So would I—if Honey Bee was lookin’, Lonnie.”
“Aw, he jist thinks she’s his girl.”
“Mebbe. Huh!”
Uncle Hozie lifted in his stirrups and looked down the road.
“What’s this we’re comin’ to, Lonnie?”
It was Joe Rich, dismounted, standing in the middle of the road. Standing against the brush on the river side of the road was Jim Wheeler’s horse, and Jim Wheeler was in a huddled heap in the middle of the road.
Uncle Hozie and Lonnie dismounted quickly and went over to him. His right leg was twisted in a peculiar position and his head had been badly beaten. Uncle Hozie dropped to his knees and examined him as quickly as possible.
“Joe, for God’s sake, what happened to Jim?” he asked.