TOLL
None of the Moonstone boys had supposed that Overland Red was hit. He
rode joyfully and even began a poem to the occasion. Williams was first
to notice that Overland's speech was growing thick and that his free
hand clasped the saddle-horn.
The others, riding a little to the rear, burst suddenly into boisterous
laughter. "What you think, Brand?" called Pars Long. "Bud's jest been
countin' his fingers and he says there is one missin'. He ain't sure
yet, but he's countin' hard. He has to skip when he comes to number one
on his right mitt. Says he can't get started to count, that way."
"Some lucky it ain't his head," replied Williams.
"His head? Bud would never miss that. But his pore little ole finger,
layin' calm and cold back there. A very sad business, brethren."
"I paid twelve 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 he got? Saunders was pretty nigh cut in two and the other
one by the bar had four holes in him. I counted 'em, to quit thinkin' of
my arm. Them automatics is fierce!"
"He would never 'a' got out if he'd been packin' a regular old six-gun,"
said Bud Light. "_Both_ them guys were throwin' lead at him."
"How do you know? You wasn't there."
"Easy. He went in to get Saunders. He gets him. The other one takes a
hand. He got _him_. _We_ didn't do any shootin' inside."
"Guess that's right. But how about the barkeep?"
"Oh, he just got in the way. He was drilled between the lamps. In a mix
like that who's goin' to take time to draw fine?"
"Did you see Brand lift the Gophertown guy out of his saddle--the one
that was shootin' at Red in front of the joint? Brand threw a forty-five
into him, and comin' on the jump, too. The Gopher humped up like he'd
been horned by the Santa Fé Limited. Now what's the dope?"
Overland Red had again fallen from his horse. Williams beckoned to Long.
"Take the Yuma colt, Pars, and fan it for the cañon. Send the doc back,
and you stay with that young Winthrop and look after Collie. Your hoss
is quieter for Red, anyway. Tell the doc to bring his tools along. I
reckon we'll camp over there near the hills till to-morrow."
"Who was it got me?" questioned Overland as he was revived a second
time.
"I don't know," replied Williams. "The only distinguishin' brand on him
was one I put there. It ain't worryin' him now."
"Like old times," said Overland, trying to smile.
"Like old times," echoed Williams.
"I guess it was Parks," murmured Overland. "He had plenty of chance. I
wasn't after him."
* * * * *
Slowly the group of horsemen rode across the desert. The afternoon sun
made queer shadows of them and their mounts. Billy Dime rode bent
forward. His face was white and beaded with sweat. Overland, on Long's
pony, was supported by Miguel and Brand Williams. Pars Long had
disappeared in the shadows of the range.
Billy Dime's eyes grew strangely bright. He laughed, gazing at the
foreman's back. "The whole damn fuss was wrong, _wrong_, I tell you! We
had no _business_ shootin' up that town."
"But it was considerable pleasure," said Bud Light. "You're off your
bean, Billy. I guess you forget what they did to Collie."
Billy Dime leered. The fever from his wound was working through his
blood. "Don't pertend to me, Bud Light, that you come on this little
pasear on account of _Collie_. It was _her_ eyes that said to go. You
know that. She never said words, but her _eyes_ said to go--and to kill!
Do you get that? That's what a woman can do to a man, without sayin' a
word. And what did Collie ever do for me? Look at that arm. _Look_ at
it! What did Collie ever do for me to get shot up this way?" And Billy
Dime began to weep. "I killed two of 'em--two of 'em. I saw 'em drop. I
was drawin' fine--_fine_, I tell you, and I couldn't miss."
Bud Light rode forward to Williams. "Billy's gone off his crust. He's
ravin' back there, Brand."
Williams drew Long's flask from his saddle-pocket. "Give him a shot of
this. Take some yourself. Miguel and I don't need any. Hold on--I'll
give Red a shot first. When it gets to workin', you yip and ride for the
hills. We'll all ride--_ride_, you understand? It'll be a dry camp, and
a hard flash, but we'll make it."