"By my scalp! it feels good to be able to move 'em," he declared. "I begun to think I'd never git the chance to use 'em again. I ain't never been bound afore.
"You come jest in the nick of time, Jess. An' perhaps the old battle cry didn't sound good to my ears."
"I reckon it did," assented the bandit-chieftain.
All the while the two outlaws had been walking toward where the rest of the notorious band were standing, making an examination of their wounds.
"Any of the bucks' shots get you fellows bad?" asked the bandit-chieftain, anxiously, as he swept the little group with his eyes.
"Sam's got it the worst," returned Frank.
Muttering an imprecation, Jesse strode to where Dirks was standing.
With tender fingers, the world-famous desperado cut away the blood-soaked clothes, while his men gathered about to learn the extent of their pal's injuries.
As the red, angry looking flesh was exposed to view, they uttered various exclamations.
One and all of them had seen enough wounds to know that this was serious. But to learn just how bad it was they awaited their leader's announcement.
"That sure is a nasty one," declared Jesse in a few moments. "The shoulder blade's shattered."
"It's too much for me to attempt to fix up. I'll just put a bandage round it and then you'll have to go to some town where there's a sawbones.
"He'll probably say you'll have to lose your arm."
The words evoked groans from the others as Sam wailed:
"And it's me best arm, too. What good'll I be with only one fin left? I wish the devils had a killed me."
"Nonsense, man! Buck up! You can shoot with your left hand and when you get into a fight there won't be so much of you to hit."
This lugubrious consolation did not reconcile Sam to the prospective loss of his good right arm, however, and all through the time his leader was dressing the injury he lamented his fate.
The wounds of the others, though painful, were not serious.
Bud, Bob and Frank had all been hit in their legs.
"I reckon you three," said Jesse, addressing the last named, "had better be the ones to take Sam to the Sawbones.
"He can't go alone, and if we should be obliged to make any hard rides, it wouldn't help the holes in your legs any."
"But suppose we run into the soldiers?" queried Bob. "Four of us, with Sam worse than useless won't be able to do anything against 'em and we'll get pinched and run to the nearest fort. And you know what that means," he added significantly.