"Rough handlin', Cap'n. Yer must excuse haste."
It was the voice of Lincoln.
"Ha! in the timber? Safe, then!" ejaculated I in return.
"Two or three wounded--not bad neither. Chane has got a stab in the
hip--he gin the feller goss for it. Let me louze the darned thing off
o' your neck. It kum mighty near chokin' yer, Cap'n."
Bob proceeded to unwind the noose end of a lazo that, with some six feet
of a raw hide thong, was still tightly fastened around my neck.
"But who cut the rope?" demanded I.
"I did, with this hyur toothpick. Yer see, Cap'n, it warn't yer time to
be hung just yet."