messenger's wounds, and when the latter looked up his friend had his own shirt open and was squeezing at a little pink spot just under his right breast.
"My God," said the messenger, "are you shot there?"
"Yes—that was n't a bad shot, only on the wrong side."
"But why don't it bleed?"
"It's bleedin on the wrong side," was the answer, and then the stranger closed his shirt, looked steadily at his companion and asked: "Where's your dough?"
"Behind those two rocks that are partly hidden by the boughs of yon cedar. Can you bring it to me? There are five pieces."
"Forty thousand, eh?" said the dark man as he dumped the five envelopes beside the messenger, "and it ain't worth the excitement you've gone through. But I like you; there's good stuff in you, boy."
"Half of it ought to be yours, for you saved me and the money, too. But who are you, and how did you happen to be here?" asked the messenger eagerly.
