Even as he moved, a second shot rang out and he felt the wind of the bullet on his cheek.

With Phil's gun in his hand, he ran toward a cedar tree on the side of the open space opposite the point from which the shots came, and as he ran another bullet whistled past.
A man moving as Patches moved is not an easy mark.

The same man armed, and protected by the trunk of a tree, is still more difficult.

A moment after he had gained cover, the cowboy heard the clatter of a horse's feet, near the spot from which the shots had come, and by the sound knew that the unseen marksman had chosen to retire with only half his evident purpose accomplished, rather than take the risk that had arisen with Patches' success in turning the ambush into an open fight.
As the sound of the horse's swift rush down the side of the ridge grew fainter and fainter, Patches ran to Phil.
A quick examination told him that the bullet had entered just under the right shoulder, and that the man, though unconscious and, no doubt, seriously wounded, was living.
With rude bandages made by tearing his shirt into strips Patches checked the flow of blood, and bound up the wound as best he could.

Then for a moment he considered.