"Dash it all, Buck! Do you want to break open that wound? ’Pon my word, I don’t envy you your patient, Miss LaFrance. You lie still, you restless beggar. I ’ve packed more than one man with a game leg and gone it alone. Do you think you can manage those dancing jackasses?" He looked doubtingly from them to Margaret. Margaret dimpled. "Ask Sandy," she advised, demurely. "Ou, ay!" quoth Whitby and Margaret broke into bubbling laughter that reflected from Rose’s face in the faint shadow of a smile. "Too bad of me to be laughing this way, Mr. Peters," apologized Margaret, correctly interpreting the expression of Rose, whose glance had turned to Buck; "but I have so much cause to be merry when I least expected it that I forgot for the moment you are wounded." She resolutely avoided looking at Whitby who, thus unobserved, displayed a grin more fittingly adapted to the countenance of the famous Cat of Cheshire. Rose glanced swiftly from Whitby to Margaret and the two women were already aware of that which the men would never guess in each other. "Shucks! I been shot up worse ’n this, Miss McAllister," assured Buck; "if that pig-headed Britisher would on’y take orders like he oughta. He ’s obstinater nor a cow with a suckin’ calf." "Right-o!" assented Whitby, who had finished his preparations for the lift. "Now, Miss LaFrance." He had managed to pass the blanket under Buck’s middle, looping it over his own neck; while this arrangement eased but little weight from Rose, it had the advantage of keeping Buck comparatively straight. Whitby, backing up into the buckboard, his hands tightly grasping Buck beneath the arms, was ably assisted by Rose, who moved and steadied her load without apparent effort. Margaret was genuinely surprised. "How strong you are!" she exclaimed, admiringly. "Gentle as rain," commended Buck. "If you got that flask handy, Whit, I ’d like to feel it." CHAPTER XXIII HOPALONG’S MOVE Hopalong, nursing Allday with due regard to the miles yet to be travelled, was disagreeably surprised to recognize Cock Murray in the horseman approaching. The explanation offered did not improve his temper. He turned on Murray a hard stare that was less a probe than an exponent of destruction to a liar. There was that about Hopalong which spelled danger; no strong man is without it; and few men, honest or not, fail of the impression when in the presence of it. Cock Murray was no coward. He was distinctly not afraid to meet death at a moment’s notice or with no notice at all, if it came that way; yet he was grateful to be able to face that stare with an honest purpose in his heart. "Murray, down Texas way h—l-raisin’ on a range means sudden death. It’s a-goin’ to stop on th’ Double Y. Which side are you on?" "If it depends on my say-so, th’ Double Y is as peaceful as a’ Eastern dairy from this out." "Let ’er go at that. How ’s that cayuse?"