He was the young fellow Billy Sudden had spoken about.

“We can’t tell how badly you are hurt until you get up,” said Ted.  “Rise, and we’ll go into the house and examine your wounds.”

Slowly young Farley got to his feet, but when he tried to walk he uttered a howl of pain, and sank down again.

“Yellow all through,” said Ben, in a tone of disgust.

“Ever have about three ounces of duck shot pumped into yer system through yer hide?” asked Bud.

“Never had.”

“Then yer don’t know all ther joys o’ life.  I’ve had one ounce shot inter my leg, an’ if ther contents o’ two shells gives double ther pain one does, then excuse me.  An’ mine wuz only snipe shot, at that.”

“Pick him up, boys, and lay him on the lounge in my room,” said Ted.  “I’ll take a look at him after a while, meantime some of you watch him to see that he doesn’t get away.  We need him for evidence.”

When Bud and Ben had carried the wounded boy into Ted’s room and laid him on the lounge, Bud stood over him regarding him with interest.

“I sorter envy yer, kid,” he said at last.

“You can have ’em, but I don’t see why you envy me,” said Farley.

“I wuz thinkin’ how happy you’ll be all through these lonesome winter evenings, pickin’ ther shot out o’ yer legs.”

When Farley had been carried into the house, Ted called Kit to him and said: 

“Kit, I wish you’d ride over to Suggs’ ranch and tell Billy Sudden that his protege is over here with his hide peppered with bird shot, and ask him to ride over and take a look at him.”

During breakfast they related to Stella the story of Song’s wolf hunt in the chicken house, and the result.

Song was as proud as a peacock, and wore “the smile that won’t come off” as he flitted around the table waiting on every one.

“Say, Missee Stella,” he said, “Song all samee one cowbloy now, eh?  What you sayee?”

“Yes, Song, you have certainly followed instructions.  You got your wolf that time, sure.  How you likee shootee?”

“No likee, Missee Stella.  Makee too much noisee, all samee too much plenty fiahclackers.  Kickee like blazes.  Plitty near knockee arm outee Song.”

The boys stripped Farley after breakfast, and found his legs in pretty bad condition.  They looked as if Song’s gun had been loaded with smallpox, and all of it had lodged in the lad’s legs.

“Boys, we’ll have to take relays in picking the shot from our first victim,” said Ted.  “There’s too much work here for one man.”

“He’s a turrible-lookin’ demon now with a hide full o’ shot.  Ther punctured demon of Demonville!  Say, kid, I’d hate ter laugh at yer, but yer a sight.  Why didn’t yer fix it so’s them two charges o’ shot would hev been distributed among ther gang?  Then yer could sit down o’ evenings an’ pick shot out o’ one another instid o’ plottin’ agin’ ther whites.”