He looked up as Endicott greeted him.
"Mebbe-so dat better you don' say nuttin' 'bout A'm gon' 'way from
here," he grinned. "Tex she com' 'long pret' queek, now. Mebbe-so he
t'ink dat better A'm stay roun' de camp. But _Voila_! How A'm know he
ain' gon for git hurt?"
"But he did--" Alice paused abruptly with the sentences unfinished,
for the sound of galloping hoofs reached her ears and she looked up to
see the Texan swing from his horse, strip off the saddle and bridle and
turn the animal loose.
"Oh," she cried, as the man joined them after spreading his saddle
blanket to dry. "Your eyes are swollen almost shut and your lip is
bleeding!"
"Yes," answered the cowboy with a contortion of the stiff, swollen lip
that passed for a smile. "I rounded the bend in a coulee down yonder
an' run plumb against a hard projection."
"They certainly are hard--I have run against those projections myself,"
grinned Endicott. "You see, we had what you might call ringside seats,
and I noticed that it didn't take you very long to come back with some
mighty stiff projecting yourself."
"Yes. Him pastin' me between the eyes that way, I took as an
onfriendly act, an' one I resented."
"That wallop you landed on his chin was a beautiful piece of work."
"Yes, quite comely." The cowboy wriggled his fingers painfully.
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