"Not serious. It's a clean wound in his thigh. I got it tied up with his neckerchief."
Buck nodded and walked over to where Bud was squatting beside the wounded cow-puncher. By this time his eyes were accustomed to the half-darkness, and he could easily distinguish the long length of the fellow, and even noted that the dark eyes were regarding him questioningly out of a white, rather strained face.
"Want me to look you over?" he asked, bending down. "I've had considerable experience with this sort of thing, and maybe I can make you easier."
"Go to it," nodded the young chap briefly. "It ain't bleedin' like it was, but it could be a whole lot more comfortable."
With the aid of Jessup and McCabe, Bemis was moved out into the moonlight, where Stratton made a careful examination of his wound. He found that the bullet had plowed through the fleshy part of the thigh, just missing the bone, and, barring chances of infection, it was not likely to be dangerous. He was readjusting Slim's crude bandaging when he heard the beat of hoofs and out of the corner of one eye saw McCabe walk swiftly out to meet the returning punchers.
These halted about fifty feet away, and there was a brief exchange of words of which Buck could distinguish nothing. Presently two of the men dashed off in the direction of the ranch-house, while Lynch rode slowly forward and dismounted.
"How yuh feelin'?" he asked Bemis, adding with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "I hear yuh got a reg'lar professional sawbones to look after yuh."
"He acts like he knew what he was about," returned Bemis briefly. "How yuh goin' to get me home?"
"I've sent Butch an' Flint after the wagon," explained Lynch. "They'll hustle all they can."
"Did you catch sight of the rustlers?" asked Stratton suddenly.
The foreman flashed him a sudden not overfriendly glance.
"No," he returned curtly, and turning on his heel led his horse over to where the others had gathered in the shadow of a rocky butte.
It was nearly an hour before the lumbering farm-wagon appeared. During the interval Buck sat beside the wounded man, smoking and exchanging occasional brief comments with Bud, who stayed close by. One or two of the others strolled up to ask about Bemis, but for the most part they remained in their little group, the intermittent glow of their cigarettes flickering in the darkness and the constant low murmur of their conversation wafted indistinguishably across the intervening space.