"My God! Dave!" cried Hare. "You're not hard hit? Don't say it!"
"Hard hit--Jack--old fellow," replied Dave, with a pale smile. His face
was white and clammy.
August Naab looked once at him and groaned, "My son! My son!"
"Dad--I got Chance and Culver--there they lie in the road--not bungled,
either!"
Hare saw the inert forms of two men lying near the gate; one rested on
his face, arm outstretched with a Colt gripped in the stiff hand; the
other lay on his back, his spurs deep in the ground, as if driven there
in his last convulsion.
August Naab and Zeke carried the injured man into the house. The women
and children followed, and Hare, with Billy and George, entered last.
"Dad--I'm shot clean through--low down," said Dave, as they laid him on a
couch. "It's just as well I--as any one--somebody had to--start this
fight."
Naab got the children and the girls out of the room. The women were
silent now, except Dave's wife, who clung to him with low moans. He
smiled upon all with a quick intent smile, then he held out a hand to
Hare.
"Jack, we got--to be--good friends. Don't forget--that--when you meet--
Holderness.
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