Frank was lifted and carried into the house, and a cowboy by the name of
Fisher, who had once practiced medicine, and was something of a surgeon,
was rushed in to attend to him.
The cowboys and the others scattered to search for the unknown who had
fired the dastardly shot.
Behind one of the corrals they found Billy Cornmeal, apparently dead
drunk, an empty whisky bottle clasped to his breast.
They shook and hammered the half-breed, but not even several sharp
pricks with the point of a knife served to arouse him.
"Let him alone," said Pecos Pete. "He's dead ter ther world, an' he
couldn't tell anything. We're losin' time."
So Billy was left to sleep off his jag while the search was continued.
It proved anything but satisfactory, as no person save the half-blood
was found who could have fired the shot, and it seemed certain that
Billy Cornmeal had not done it.
There was something mysterious about the affair.
"If there had been a possible way for him to do the trick, I should
suspect Indian Charlie," said Diamond; "but he was with us, and we know
he did not do the trick."
"He did not do it," said Hodge, fiercely, "but he may have been at the
bottom of it."
They went back to the house.
As they entered, they were astonished to meet Frank, about whose head a
bandage was tied.
Rattleton gave a wild shout of joy and clasped Merry in his arms.
"He's all right, fellows!" Harry shouted. "Here he is! He is not dead!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" roared the others, expressing their delight in
a wild outburst of cheering.
It was some time before the rejoicing over Frank's lucky escape abated,
but the mystery of the shot remained a mystery still.
Who had tried to kill Merriwell? That question seemed unanswerable.
"I tell you," said Hodge, "I believe that half-breed had something to do
with it."
"Billy Cornmeal?" asked Rodney.
"Sure."
"But he was drunk."
"He seemed to be, but I don't think he was drunk at all. I think it was
a trick, and he played it well."
"Why should he shoot Merriwell?"
"That is a question he might be forced to answer. Let's go find him and
bring him into the house."
This was agreed upon, but when they went to look for the half-breed he
was gone. He had seemed too drunk to move, but still he had disappeared.
That was suspicious. They looked for his pony, and that had disappeared
also.
"He must have skipped immediately after we left him," said Hodge; "and
so he has had time to place himself beyond some of those knots of
timber. That is proof enough that he was the skunk who did the shooting,
but some other person put him up to it. Mark me, the real enemy of Frank
Merriwell is not Billy Cornmeal."