rgis
busted him one swipe with his chaparreras, and what do you reckon the
poor child did? Got up, the little skeeter, and licked Ross. Licked
Ross Hargis. Licked him good. Hit him plenty and everywhere and hard.
Ross'd just get up and pick out a fresh place to lay down on agin.

"Then that McGuire goes off there and lays down with his head in the
grass and bleeds. A hem'ridge they calls it. He lays there eighteen
hours by the watch, and they can't budge him. Then Ross Hargis, who
loves any man who can lick him, goes to work and damns the doctors
from Greenland to Poland Chiny; and him and Green Branch Johnson they
gets McGuire into a tent, and spells each other feedin' him chopped
raw meat and whisky.

"But it looks like the kid ain't got no appetite to git well, for they
misses him from the tent in the night and finds him rootin' in the
grass, and likewise a drizzle fallin'. 'G'wan,' he says, 'lemme go and
die like I wanter. He said I was a liar and a fake and I was playin'
sick. Lemme alone.'

"Two weeks," went on the cook, "he laid around, not noticin' nobody,
and then--"

A sudden thunder filled the air, and a score of galloping centaurs
crashed through the brush into camp.

"Illustrious rattlesnakes!" exclaimed Pete, springing all ways at
once; "here's the boys come, and I'm an assassinated man if supper
ain't ready in three minutes."

But Raidler saw only one thing. A little, brown-faced, grinning chap,
springing from his saddle in the full light of the fire. McGuire was
not like that, and yet--

In another instant the cattleman was holding him by the hand and
shoulder.

"Son, son, how goes it?" was all he found to say.

"Close to the ground, says you," shouted McGuire, crunching Raidler's
fingers in a grip of steel; "and dat's where I found it--healt' and
strengt', and tumbled to what a cheap skate I been actin'. T'anks fer
kickin' me out, old man. And--say! de joke's on dat croaker, ain't it?
I looked t'rough the window and see him playin' tag on dat Dago kid's
solar plexus."

"You son of a tinker," growled the cattleman, "whyn't you talk up and
say the doctor never examined you?"

"Ah--g'wan!" said McGuire, with a flash of his old asperity, "nobody
can't bluff me. You never ast me. You made your spiel, and you t'rowed
me out, and I let it go at dat. And, say, friend, dis chasin' cows is
outer sight. Dis is de whitest bunch of sports I ever travelled with.
You'll let me stay, won't yer, old man?