“Soon as I get the lip open shove her in,” he told Stone.
The prisoner moistened his dry lips. It was plain that he was in great pain.
The rescuer slipped the toes of his boots over the lower lip and caught the upper one with both hands. Slowly the mouth of the trap opened. Stone slipped in the wooden wedge and withdrew his crushed wrist. By great good fortune the steel had caught on the leather gauntlet he was wearing. Otherwise it must have mangled the arm to a pulp.
Even now he was suffering a good deal.
“You’ll have to let a doc look at it,” Curly suggested.
Stone agreed. “Reckon I better strike for the Bar 99.” He was furious at himself for having let such an accident happen. The veriest tenderfoot might have known better.
His horse had disappeared, but Curly helped him to the back of Keno. Together they took the trail for the Bar 99. On the face of the wounded man gathered the moisture caused by intense pain. His jaw was clenched to keep back the groans.
“Hard sledding, looks like,” Curly sympathized.
“Reckon I can stand the grief,” Stone grunted.
Nor did he speak again until they reached the ranch and Laura London looked at him from a frightened face.