Irish, you--" Weary looked up and discovered that Irish and jack Bates were already headed for home and a conveyance.
He gave a sigh of approval and turned his attention toward wiping the sweat and grime from Happy's face with his handkerchief.
"Somebody else is goin' to git hit, by golly, if we stay here," Slim blurted suddenly, when another bullet dug up the dirt in that vicinity.
"That gol-darned fool'll keep on till he kills somebody.

I wisht I had m' thirty-thirty here--I'd make him wisht his mother was a man, by golly!" Big Medicine looked toward the coulee rim.

"I ain't got a shell left," he growled regretfully.

"I wisht we'd thought to tell the boys to bring them rifles.

Say, Slim, you crawl onto your hoss and go git 'em.