Loudon set to work. Chuck Morgan was despatched to find water, and Mr. Saltoun found himself taking and obeying orders from one of his own cowpunchers.
An hour later Ramsay, his wounds washed and bandaged, began to mutter, but his words were unintelligible. Within, half an hour he was raving in delirium. Chuck Morgan had departed, bound for the Bar S, and Loudon and Mr. Saltoun sat back on their heels and watched their moaning patient.
"It's a whipsaw whether he'll pull through or not," remarked the bromidic Mr. Saltoun.
"He's got to pull through," declared Loudon, grimly. "He ain't goin' to die. Don't think it for a minute."
"I dunno. He's got three holes in him."
"Two. Neck an' arm, an' the bone ain't touched. That graze on the head ain't nothin'. It looks bad, but it only scraped the skin. His neck's the worst. A half inch over an' he'd 'a' bled to death. Yuh can't rub out Johnny so easy. There's a heap o' life in him."
"His heart's goin' better now," said Mr. Saltoun.
Loudon nodded, his gray eyes fixed on the bandaged head of his friend. Conversation languished, and Mr. Saltoun began to roll and smoke cigarettes. After a time Loudon rose.
"He'll do till the wagon comes," he said. "Let's go over an' take a squint at that cow."
Loudon led Mr. Saltoun to the spot where lay the dead cow. When the puncher came in sight of the dead animal he halted abruptly and observed that he would be damned.