welve sweaty plunks for her in Los and look at her!" cried Pars
Long, doffing his sombrero. The high crown was literally shot to pieces.
"I guess I am some wise guy. You fellas kidded me about sportin' an
extra high lid. Come on, Chico, they're laughin' at us!"

"If they'd 'a' shot the crown off clean down to your ears, you'd never
noticed it," grumbled Billy Dime.

"Mebby I am a flat-headed chicken, Billy, but I got both wings yet,"
retorted Long.

Billy Dime looked down at the blood-soaked sleeve of his right arm. "The
fella that did it is eatin' grass now," he muttered.

"Now, what's the matter with Miguel? Discovered any bullets nestin' in
your manly buzzum, Miguel?"

"I think no. But I lose something," replied Miguel, smiling.

"That so?"

"I did have the tobacco and papers here," he said, and he put his hand
on his chest. "Now I look and the pocket and some of the shirt is not
there--and my tobacco is gone, and the little papers."

"Is that all? Sad. I thought you'd lost a railroad or a steamship or
something. Cheer up! Things might be better."

"I think I like to smoke," said Miguel, quite seriously. "I will ride
back and get some tobacco and some more papers."

"That ain't all you'll get. Here, smoke up. You look fine in that
peek-a-boo shirt. Never knowed you had such a good shape. What size
gloves do you wear, pet?" And Pars Long passed tobacco and papers to
Miguel, who rolled a cigarette and smoked contentedly.

"Billy, you look sick," said Bud Light.

"Oh, no! I want to go to a dance, right away. Whoa!"

They drew rein. Williams, dismounting, was bending over his companion
Overland, who had suddenly slipped from the saddle.

"Where's he punctured?" queried Bud Light.

Williams examined the prostrate man. "Kind of low down, and in the side.
'T ain't bad, but it's bad enough. Got any whiskey?"

"You bet! I got a pocket-gun here. Swiped it in the saloon." And Pars
Long handed a flask to Williams.

The riders, standing round the fallen man, watched Williams as he bound
up the wound, which was bleeding slowly. The whiskey partially revived
Overland. He managed finally to cling to the saddle, supported by
Williams.

"She's thirty hot miles to camp. Red won't last out," said Long.

"I say he does," said Bud Light. "Did you see them puckers in his hide?
I counted seven. He ain't made to be stopped by a gun."

"Mebby he ain't stopped, but he's slowed up considerable. Did you see
the two guys