a-cuttin' your fence!" said another,
taking hold of him from the other side.

"Don't hurt him, boys," admonished a third voice, which he knew for
Berry Kerr's--"this is the young man who has come to the Bad Lands with
a mission. He's going to teach people to take off their hats to
barbed-wire fences. I wouldn't have him hurt for a keg of nails."

He came near Lambert now, put a hand on his shoulder, and asked him with
a gentle kindness how he felt.

Lambert did not answer him, for he had no words adequate to describe his
feelings at that moment to a friend, much less an enemy whose intentions
were unknown. He sat, fallen forward, in a limp and miserable heap,
drenched with water, clusters of fire gathering and breaking like
showers of a rocket before his eyes. His head throbbed and ached in
maddening pain. This was so great that it seemed to submerge every
faculty save that of hearing, to paralyze him so entirely that he could
not lift a hand. That blow had all but killed him.

"Let him alone--he'll be all right in a minute," said Kerr's voice,
sounding close to his ear as if he stooped to examine him.

One was standing behind Lambert, knees against his back to prevent his
entire collapse. The others drew off a little way. There followed the
sound of horses, as if they prepared to ride. It seemed as if the great
pain in Lambert's head attended the return of consciousness, as it
attends the return of circulation. It soon began to grow easier,
settling down to a throb with each heartbeat, as if all his life forces
rushed to that spot and clamored against his skull to be released. He
stiffened, and sat straight.

"I guess you can stick on your horse now," said the man behind him.

The fellow left him at that. Lambert could see the heads and shoulders
of men, the heads of horses, against the sky, as if they were below the
river bank. He felt for his gun. No surprise was in store for him there;
it was gone.

He was unable to mount when they brought his horse. He attempted it, in
confusion of senses that made it seem the struggle of somebody whom he
watched and wanted to help, but could not. They lifted him, tied his
feet under the horse, his hands to the saddle-horn. In this fashion they
started away with him, one riding ahead, one on either hand. He believed
that one or more came following, but of this he was not sure.

He knew it would be useless to make inquiry of their intentions. That
would bring down on him d