"Just what I said," retorted Johnny. "There's six of you now. It ought to be worth something to you fellers to be allowed to stay alive. I'll throw off half for th' wounded men--let 'em off at half price. What are you fellers willin' to pay me if I let you leave th' country with a cayuse apiece an' all yore personal belongin's?" "This ain't no time for jokin'!" snapped Quigley angrily. "I ain't jokin' a bit! I'll have yore skins pegged out to dry before I get through with you. Yo're a bunch of sap-headed jackasses, with no more sense than a sheep-herder. I'm 'most ashamed to get you; but I'm stranglin' my shame. You pore mutton-heads!" Quigley's language almost seared the vegetation and he was threatened with spontaneous combustion. When he paused for breath he swung his rifle up and pulled the trigger, almost blind with rage. Johnny's answering shot ripped through his forearm and he felt the awful sickness which comes when a bone is scraped. Half fainting, Quigley dropped his rifle and leaned back against a rock, regarding the numbed and bleeding arm with eyes which saw the landscape turning over and over. Gathering his senses by a great effort of will, he steadied himself and managed to make and apply a rough bandage with the clumsy aid of one hand and his teeth. "I'll give you till tomorrow mornin' to make me an offer," shouted Johnny; "but don't get reckless before then, because th' temptation shore will be more than I can stand. Think it over." "D--n his measly hide!" moaned Quigley, his anger welling up anew. "Give him our ranch, an' cows, an' _pay_ him to _let_ us leave th' country! Six of us! Six gun-fightin', law-breakin' cattle-liftin' cow-punchers; sane, healthy, an' as tough as rawhide rope, payin' _him_, a lone man up a tree, to let us leave th' country! All right, you conceited pup; you'll pay, an' pay well, for that insult!" He still was indulging in the luxury of an occasional burst of profanity when Holbrook approached the bowlders on his hands and knees. "I'm still hungry; an' I can't sleep unless I'm full of grub," apologized the rustler. "An' I heard shootin'. What's th' matter, Tom? Yore language ain't fit for innercent ears!" "Matter?" roared Quigley, going off in another flight of oratory. "Matter?" he shouted. "Look at this arm! An' listen to what that ---- ---- carrion-eatin' squaw's dog of a ---- ---- had th' ---- ---- gall to say!" As the recital unfolded Holbrook leaned back against a rock and laughed until the tears washed clean furrows through the dust and dirt on his face; and the more he laughed the more his companion's anger arose. Finally Quigley could stand it no longer, and he loosed a sudden torrent of verbal fire upon his howling friend. Holbrook feebly wiped his eyes with the backs of his dusty hands, which smeared the dirt over the wet places and gave him a grotesque appearance.