I skinned
my knuckles, too."
Ned grunted.
"I'd hate to have you land on me that way. That surely was a
sockdolager. He has his eyes open."
"Oh, hullo!" greeted Butler. "We rather turned the tables on you,
didn't we?"
"I'll kill you for this!" growled the prisoner hoarsely.
"I don't think you will kill anybody to-night. What I would like to
know is what you mean by trying to shoot us up."
"I'll shoot up the rest of you before I get through with you, you and
your whole gang. You can tell Bill McKay what I say and---"
"We don't know Bill McKay. We have nothing to do with any of you
people down here. We are here for pleasure."
"That's what the other cayuse said. Looks like you wuz, hey?"
"You alone are to blame for present conditions. We were not looking
for you. You began shooting at us before we got into the foothills.
Who were you shooting at the last time? I mean before you tried to
pot me just now."
A growl was the only answer.
"The question is, what are we going to do with this fellow, Tad?" asked
Ned. "Surely it won't be safe to let him go, and we can't leave him
here to starve to death."
"No. I'll tell you what. We will fix up a litter---by the way,
fellow, are there any more of your kind fooling about here?"
"You'll find out whether there are or not," grunted the prisoner.
"Thank you. You have answered my question.
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