Gregory's legs were crushed and one other's skull was cracked. The sixth
man was nowhere to be found. The disaster had been complete, the
downfall of the great train robbers inglorious. Looking up into the face
of Anderson Crow, Gregory smiled through his pain and said hoarsely:
"Damned rotten luck; but if we had to be taken, I'm glad you did it,
Crow. You're a good fool, anyway. But for God's sake, get me to a
doctor."
"Dang it! I'm sorry fer you, Mr. Gregory--" began Anderson, ready to
cry.
"Don't waste your time, old man. I need the doctor. Are the others
dead?" he groaned.
"I don't know," replied Jackie Blake. "Some of them look like it. We
can't carry you up that hill, but we'll do the next best thing. Marshal,
I'll stay here and guard the prisoners while you run to the village for
help--and doctors."
"And run fast, Anderson," added Gregory. "You always were so devilish
slow. Don't walk-trot."
Soon afterward, when Anderson, fagged but overjoyed, hobbled into the
village, the excited crowd was ready to lynch him, but with his first
words the atmosphere changed.
"Where is Jackie Blake?" sobbed a pretty young woman, grasping the proud
marshal's arm and shaking him violently.
"Derned if I know, ma'am. Was he stole?"
She made him understand, and together, followed by the actors, the
audience and the whole town, they led the way to the washout, the fair
Rosalind dragging the overworked hero of the hour along at a gait which
threatened to be his undoing.
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