, and something had happened.
Buell ran in and out of the cabin yelling at his men. All of them except
Herky were wildly excited. Buell was abusing Bud for something, and Bud
was blaming Buell.

"Thet's no way to talk to me!" said Bud, angrily. "He didn't break loose
in my watch!'

"You an' Greaser had the job. Both of you--went to sleep--take thet from
me!"

"Wal, he's gone, an' he took the kid's gun with him," said Bill, coolly.
"Now we'll be dodgin' bullets."

Dick Leslie had escaped! I could hardly keep down a cry of triumph. I
did ask if it was true, but none of them paid any attention to me. Buell
then ordered Herky-Jerky to trail Dick and see where he had gone. Herky
refused point-blank. "Nope. Not fer me," he said. "Leslie has a rifle.
So has Bent, an' we haven't one among us. An', Buell, if Leslie falls in
with Bent, it's goin' to git hot fer us round here."

This silenced Buell, but did not stop his restless pacings. His face was
like a thunder-cloud, and he was plainly worried and harassed. Once Bud
deliberately asked what he intended to do with me, and Buell snarled a
reply which no one understood. His gloom extended to the others, except
Herky, who whistled and sang as he busied himself about the campfire.
Greaser appeared to be particularly cast down.

"Buell, what are you going to do with me?" I demanded. But he made no
answer.

"Well, anyway," I went on, "somebody cut these ropes. I'm mighty sore
and uncomfortable."

Herky-Jerky did not wait for permission; he untied me, and helped me to
my feet. I was rather unsteady on my legs at first, and my injured arm
felt like a board. It seemed dead; but after I had moved it a little the
pain came back, and it had apparently come to stay. We ate breakfast,
and then settled down to do nothing, or to wait for something to turn
up. Buell sat in the doorway, moodily watching the trail. Once he spoke,
ordering the Mexican to drive in the horses. I fancied from this that
Buell might have decided to break camp, but there was no move to pack.

The morning quiet was suddenly split by the stinging crack of a rifle
and a yell of agony.

Buell leaped to his feet, his ruddy face white.

"Greaser!" he exclaimed.

"Thet was about where Greaser cashed," relied Bill, coolly knocking the
ashes from his pipe.

"No, Bill, you're wrong. Here comes Greaser, runnin' like an Indian."

"Look at the blood! He's been plugged, all right!" exclaimed
Herky-Jerky.

The sou