“Wow!” grunted Dud as he wiped the sweat from his face. “I’m sure enough glad to have that job done with. My back aches right between the shoulder blades where a bullet might ’a’ hit it.”
Bob relaxed in the saddle. He felt suddenly faint. Even now he found himself looking round apprehensively to make sure that a man carrying a rifle was not silhouetted on the hilltop against the sky-line.
CHAPTER XXVII
PARTNERS IN PERIL
Into the office of Blister Haines, J. P., a young man walked. He was a berry-brown youth, in the trappings of the range-rider, a little thin and stringy, perhaps, but well-poised and light-stepping.
With one swift glance the fat man swept his visitor from head to foot and liked what he saw. The lean face was tanned, the jaw firm, the eye direct and steady. There was no need to tell this man to snap up his head. Eight months astride a saddle in the sun and wind had wrought a change in Robert Dillon.
“’Lo, Red Haid,” the justice sang out squeakily. “How’s yore good health? I heerd you was d-drowned. Is you is, or is you ain’t? Sit down an’ rest yore weary bones.”
“I took a swim,” admitted Bob. “The boys fished me out while I was still kickin’.”