“Wal, Springer, I reckon I wished y’u’d paid it without spoilin’ my deals,” retorted Colter, cool and sharp.
“Deals? Ha! Y’u’ll be forgettin’—your lady love in a minnit,” replied Springer. “When I catch—my breath.”
“Where’s Somers?” demanded Colter.
“I reckon he’s all shot up—if my eyes didn’t fool me.”
“Where is he?” yelled Colter.
“Jim—he’s layin’ up in the bushes round thet bluff. I didn’t wait to see how he was hurt. But he shore stopped some lead. An’ he flopped like a chicken with its—haid cut off.”
“Where’s Antonio?”
“He run like the greaser he is,” declared Springer, disgustedly.
“Ahuh! An’ where’s Queen?” queried Colter, after a significant pause.
“Dead!”