uprisen, and in the gathering twilight it flapped ghostly arms about and
titubated toward them drunkenly. But the next instant John Gordon found
the opening and crawled forth.

"What the flaming--!" For the moment his voice died away in his throat
as his eyes took in the tableau. "Hold on! I'm not dead!" he cried out,
coming up to the group with stormy countenance.

"Allow me, Mistah Gordon, to congratulate you upon youah escape," Mr.
Taylor ventured. "A close shave, suh, a powahful close shave."

" Congratulate hell! I might have been dead and rotten and no thanks to
you, you--!" And thereat John Gordon delivered himself of a vigorous
flood of English, terse, intensive, denunciative, and composed solely of
expletives and adjectives.

"Simply creased me," he went on when he had eased himself sufficiently.
"Ever crease cattle, Taylor?"

"Yes, suh, many a time down in God's country."

"Just so. That's what happened to me. Bullet just grazed the base of my
skull at the top of the neck. Stunned me but no harm done." He turned
to the bound man. "Get up, Jan. I'm going to lick you to a standstill
or you're going to apologize. The rest of you lads stand clear."

"I tank not. Shust tie me loose und you see," replied Jan, the
Unrepentant, the devil within him still unconquered. "Und after as I
lick you, I take der rest of der noddleheads, von after der odder,
altogedder!"