Sensing the reason behind her father’s suggestion, Belle led the way toward the side of the ranch house. Gus turned in his saddle and watched the three girls depart. When they were out of sight and hearing, he took a long breath, swayed in the saddle, then gritted his teeth and straightened up. Roy walked over to him and, reaching up, seized him around the waist and practically lifted him from his horse. “Let’s see that wound, Gus,” Mr. Manley demanded. His teeth set grimly in his lower lip, the puncher thrust the injured arm forward. The cattle owner took hold of it gently and bent over it. Then he gave a cry. “It’s a gunshot wound! You’ve been plugged, Gus!” “Cor-rect.” Gus turned his head wearily. “Teddy, I wonder if you’d cut this here sleeve off me? You see it’s kind o’ stuck, an’ when I pull it--” “Sure, Gus!” the boy answered with a note of pity in his voice. “Have it off in a jiffy.” Opening his jackknife, Teddy slit the sleeve loose just below the armpit. As gently as he could, he peeled the cloth away from the wound. Gus winced, but uttered never a word until the sleeve was off. Then he heaved a sigh and said laconically: “Thanks, Teddy! Feels better now. Much obliged.” Sing Lung, who stood watching the scene with wide eyes, now scurried into the cookhouse and returned in a moment with a stool. “Gus,” he said, “you sittee down. Feel bettah. I gettee you dlink!” Entering the kitchen once more, the Chinese came back with a cup of water. Gus drank it gratefully. “You’re a fine cook, Sing Lung,” the injured man drawled, handing the cup back. The sun-tanned red had returned to his cheeks, but Mr. Manley noticed that there was just a bit too much color there now. “Yep, a fine cook,” Gus repeated, as though to himself. “A fine cook! Only--you can’t bake _bread_.” “Here, Gus,” Roy said in a loud voice, “snap out of that! Does your arm hurt much? What happened?” “What--this?” Gus held up the arm and examined it as if it belonged to another man. “Naw, she don’t hurt. Feels kind of funny, that’s all. Well, I’ll tell you what happened.” Taking another deep breath, the cowboy regained control of himself with an obvious effort and went on: “You know I went down to Eagles for the mail.” Mr. Manley turned to Sing Lung and said something in a low voice. The cook disappeared, to return in a moment with a white shirt. While Gus talked, Mr. Manley was using strips of this as a bandage to stop the bleeding.