"Shore--I'm damn glad--them Greasers ain't usin' soft-nose bullets," drawled a calm voice.
Swift as lightning Gale whirled.
"Laddy! I thought you were done for," cried Gale, with a break in his voice.
"I ain't a-mindin' the bullet much. But that choya joint took my nerve, an' you can gamble on it. Dick, this hole's pretty high up, ain't it?"
The ranger's blouse was open at the neck, and on his right shoulder under the collar bone was a small hole just beginning to bleed.
"Sure it's high, Laddy," replied Gale, gladly. "Went clear through, clean as a whistle!"
He tore a handkerchief into two parts, made wads, and pressing them close over the wounds he bound them there with Ladd's scarf.
"Shore it's funny how a bullet can floor a man an' then not do any damage," said Ladd. "I felt a zip of wind an' somethin' like a pat on my chest an' down I went. Well, so much for the small caliber with their steel bullets. Supposin' I'd connected with a .405!"