"Sam!" he called sharply. Cautiously a head raised from behind a sage
bush. "How long you t'ink dat tak' you git well? Wan man he lak' for
git arres' w'en you git time."
"Shut up! Don't talk so loud! D'you want to git us killed? Which one
got it?"
"Purdy. De pilgrim shoot heem 'cause he run off wit' he's girl."
"Pilgrim! What pilgrim! An' what girl? Ain't that Tex Benton's
horse, an' Cinnabar Joe's----?"
"Uh-huh, A'm bor' heem Tex boss for ketch Purdy. An', Ba goss, he
shoot heem on he's head after Purdy draw'd!"
Moore stared aghast. "What? A pilgrim done that? Not on yer life!
He may look an' act like a pilgrim but, take it from me, he's a
desperate character if he got Purdy after he draw'd. It's worser than
if it was Tex. _He_ might of took pity on us, knowin' about the
fambly. But a stranger, an' one that kin git a man like Jack Purdy!
O-o-o-o, my stummick! Bat, I'm 'fraid I'm a-passin' away! These
spells is a-killin' me--an' what'll become of the woman an' the kids?"
The half-breed grinned: "Mebbe-so you kin' pass back agin, Sam. He
ain' got no gun."
Sam Moore ceased to writhe, and sat abruptly erect. "Ain't got no
gun!" he exclaimed. "What did he shoot Purdy with?"
"My gun. He giv' it back to me. A'm bor' heem dat gun li'l while ago.
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