"It was Davis and the Captain; I killed 'em both." He rolled stiffly from the saddle, found his feet like dead things and stumbled to a little hillock, where he sat down.
Dade, kneeling awkwardly in his heavy, bearskin chaparejos, picked at the bonds with the point of his knife.

"Lucky you had on boots," he remarked.

"Even as it is, you're likely to carry creases for a while.
How the deuce did you manage to get into this particular scrape ?--if I might ask!" "I didn't get into it.

This particular scrape got me.

Say, it's lucky you happened along just when you did." To this very obvious statement the other made no reply.