enough to feel his pain.

I didn't feel like he orter be left there. So I clumb down and went over
to him. He was lying on one side all kind of huddled up. There had
been a mask on his face, like the rest of them, with some hair onto the
bottom of it to look like a beard. But now it had slipped down till it
hung loose around his neck by the string. They was enough light to see
he wasn't nothing but a young feller. He raised himself slow as I come
near him, leaning on one arm and trying to set up. The other arm hung
loose and helpless. Half setting up that-away he made a feel at his belt
with his good hand, as I come near. But that good arm was his prop, and
when he took it off the ground he fell back. His hand come away empty
from his belt.

The big six-shooter he had been feeling fur wasn't in its holster,
anyhow. It had fell out when he tumbled. I picked it up in the road
jest a few feet from his shot-gun, and stood there with it in my hand,
looking down at him.

"Well," he says, in a drawly kind of voice, slow and feeble, but looking
at me steady and trying to raise himself agin, "yo' can finish yo'
little job now--yo' shot me from the darkness, and now yo' done got my
pistol. I reckon yo' better shoot AGIN."

"I don't want to rub it in none," I says, "with you down and out, but
from what I seen around this town to-night I guess you and your own gang
got no GREAT objections to shooting from the dark yourselves."

"Why don't yo' shoot then?" he says. "It most suttinly is YO' turn now."
And he never batted an eye.

"Bo," I says, "you got nerve. I LIKE you, Bo. I didn't shoot you, and I
ain't going to. The feller that did has went. I'm going to get you out
of this. Where you hurt?"

"Hip," he says, "but that ain't much. The thing that bothers me is this
arm. It's done busted. I fell on it."

I drug him out of the road and back of the lumber pile I had been laying
on, and hurt him considerable a-doing it.

"Now," I says, "what can I do fur you?"

"I reckon yo' better leave me," he says, "without yo' want to get
yo'self mixed up in all this."

"If I do," I says, "you may bleed to death here: or anyway you would get
found in the morning and be run in."

"Yo' mighty good to me," says he, "considering yo' are no kin to this
here part of the country at all. I reckon by yo' talk yo' are one of
them damn Yankees, ain't yo'?"

In Illinoise a Yankee is some one from the East, but down South he is
anybody from nor