'My stack goes to the center, too.'
"But it don't, though, 'cause Texas has bled more'n he thinks. The
first move he makes he tips over in a faint.
"Cherokee picks up his Winchester, an', openin' the door of the
stage, jumps plumb free, an' they leaves him thar on the trail.
"'It's mebby an hour later when the stage comes into Wolfville on
the lope. Texas is still in a fog, speakin' mental, an' about bled
to death; while them exhortin' people is outen their minds entire.
"In no time thar's a dozen of us lined out for Cherokee. Do we
locate him? Which I should say we shorely discovers him. Thar's a
bullet through his laig, an' thar he is with his back ag'in a rock
wall, his Winchester to the front, his eyes glitterin', a-holdin'
the canyon. Thar never is no Injun gets by him. Of course they
stampedes prompt when they hears us a-comin', so we don't get no
fight.
"'I hopes you nails one, Cherokee,' says Enright; 'playin' even on
this yere laig they shoots.'
"'I win once, I reckons', says Cherokee, 'over behind that big rock
to the left.'
"'Shore enough he's got one Injun spread out; an', comin' along a
little, Jack Moore turns up a second.
"'Yere's another,' says Jack, 'which breaks even on the bullet in
Texas.
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