I started, glad of the chance and hurried down toward the town.
There was a light in the little adobe house where he lived, and
proceeding cautiously, so as to be sure no one saw me, I went close and
whistled low in a way he would recognize. Then he opened the door and I
went in.
"Hello, son!" he said. "You needn't have worried. Sling a blanket over
that window so no one can see in."
He had his shirt off and had been in the act of bandaging a wound that
the bullet had cut in his shoulder.
"Let me tie that up," I said, taking the strips of linen. "Ahuh! Shot
you from behind, didn't he?"
"How else, you locoed lady-charmer? It's a wonder I didn't have to tell
you that."
"Tell me about it."
Steele related a circumstance differing little from other attempts at
his life, and concluded by saying that Snecker was a good runner if he
was not a good shot.
I finished the bandaging and stood off, admiring Steele's magnificent
shoulders. I noted, too, on the fine white skin more than one scar made
by bullets. I got an impression that his strength and vitality were like
his spirit--unconquerable!
"So you knew it was Bill Snecker's son?" I asked when I had told him
about finding the rustler.
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