“Now what’s biting you?” demanded Pringle testily.  “What did you expect me to do—­send ’em a note by registered mail?”

“I’m not speaking about Applegate.  That was all right.  I am speaking about your friend.”

“Here; Kit’s coming to life again,” said Lisner.

Kitty Foy rolled over; they propped him up; he looked round rather wildly from one to the other.  His face cleared.  His eye fell upon Pringle, where it rested with a steady intentness.  When he spoke, at last, he ignored the others entirely.

“And I thought you were my friend, Pringle.  I trusted you!” he said with ominous quietness.  “I’ll make a note of it.  I have a good memory, Pringle—­and good friends.  Give me some water, someone.  I feel sick.”

Espalin brought a canteen.

“Take your time, Chris,” said Lisner.  “Tell us when you feel able to go.”

“I’ll be all right after a little.  Say, boys, it was the queerest feeling—­coming to, I mean.  I could almost hear your voices, first.  Then I heard them a long ways off but I couldn’t make any sense to the words.  Here; let me lean my back up against this rock and sit quiet for a while.  Then we’ll go.  I’m giddy yet.”

“I’ve got it!” announced Nueces a moment later.  “Barela, he’s hankering to be sheriff—­that’s the trouble.  He wanted to take Chris himself, to help things along.  That would be quite a feather in any man’s hat—­done fair.  And the sheriff, natural enough, he don’t want nothing of the kind.”

“That’s it,” said Anastacio, amusement in his eyes.  “I knew you were a good gunman, Nueces, but I never suspected you of brains before.”

“What’s the matter with that guess?” said Nueces sulkily.  “Kid, you’re always ridin’ me.  Don’t you try to use any spurs!”

“I’m in on that,” said Pringle, rising brightly.  “That’s my happy chance to join in this lovin’ conversation.  Speaking about gunmen, I’m a beaut!  See that hawk screechin’ around up there?  Well, watch!”

The hawk soared high above.  Pringle barely raised Foy’s rifle to his shoulder as he fired; the hawk tumbled headlong.  Pringle jerked the lever, throwing another cartridge into the barrel, as if to fire again at the falling bird.  Inconceivably swift, the cocked rifle whirled to cover the seated posse.

“Steady!” said Pringle.  “I’m watchin’ you, Nueces!  Chris, when you’re able to walk, go on down and pick you a horse from that bunch.  Unsaddle the others and drive ’em along a ways as you go.”  Still speaking, he edged behind the cover of a high rock.  “I’ll address the meetin’ till you get a good head start....  Steady in the boat!”

“Well, by Heck!” said Nueces.

“And I thought you had betrayed me!” cried Foy.

“Well, I hadn’t.  This was the only show to get off....  I hate to kill you, Nueces; but I will if you make a move.”

“Hell!  I ain’t makin’ no move!  What do you think I am—­a damn fool?” said Neuces.  “If I moved any it was because I am about to crack under the justly celebrated strain.  Say, young fellow, it strikes me that you change sides pretty often.”