"
"It was worth it," whispered Eddie. "Say, but that was
some scrap. You got your nerve standin' up there against the
bunch of 'em; but if you hadn't they'd have rushed us and
some of 'em would a-got in."
"Funny the boys don't come," said Billy.
"Yes," replied Eddie, with a sigh; "it's milkin' time now, an'
I figgered on goin' to Shawnee this evenin'. Them's nice
cookies, maw. I--"
Billy Byrne was bending low to catch his feeble words, and
when the voice trailed out into nothingness he lowered the
tousled red head to the hard earth and turned away.
Could it be that the thing which glistened on the eyelid of
the toughest guy on the West Side was a tear?
The afternoon waned and night came, but it brought to
Billy Byrne neither renewed attack nor succor. The bullet
which had dropped him momentarily had but creased his
forehead. Aside from the fact that he was blood covered from
the wound it had inconvenienced him in no way, and now
that darkness had fallen he commenced to plan upon leaving
the shelter.
First he transferred Eddie's ammunition to his own person,
and such valuables and trinkets as he thought "maw" might
be glad to have, then he removed the breechblock from
Eddie's carbine and stuck it in his pocket that the weapon
might be valueless to the Indians when they found it.
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