"Me after 'em too—Yaquis!" grunted the Indian. "Me catchum an' shootum same like um shoot me!"
As he spoke, or, rather, grunted this out, he pointed to his left shoulder. It was bound about with bloody rags, and in spite of his stoicism the Indian winced as he moved in the saddle.
"Did the Yaquis shoot you?" cried Nort.
"Sure! I come after you—no could stay when fight to be done—and
Yaquis what you call plug me! But I plug one, two, three 'fore I quit!"
"Where was this?"
"Was there a fight?"
"Lead us there!"
"When did it happen?"
These were only a few of the questions hurled at Buck Tooth, whose name was obviously well earned once you had looked at him. The old native seemed stunned by the volley of interrogations, and sat stolidly in his saddle while more were shot at him.
"Ugh!" he grunted in answer. "Fight yistidy—back there," and he waved a dirty hand in the direction whence he had come.