Kitty Wade cried out; Clyde rose swiftly in quick sympathy. But Casey was before her.
"Sheila—girl—what's the matter?" he exclaimed.
She stretched out her arms to him gropingly.
"Where's Tom, Casey? They're after him. Maybe they're after you. Father's hurt. Sandy——I can't talk, Casey. I guess—I'm—all in."
He caught her as she fell forward, lifting her in his arms as easily as if she had been a child, and laid her on a couch.
"No, no," he said, as Clyde would have put cushions beneath her head. "Let her lie flat." He unbuttoned the slicker, and opened her dress halfway from throat to waist, stripping it away with ruthless hand. A bare shoulder and arm showed bruised and discoloured. "She's been in some mix-up—had a fall or something. Wade, get me some whiskey and water!" His long fingers closed on her wrist. "She'll be all right in five minutes, unless something's broken. Mrs. Wade, get in here and loosen her corsets. Give her a chance."
Kitty stooped obediently, and straightened up in amazement. "Why—she——"
"Well, how did I know?" snapped Casey. He ran his hand down her side. "No ribs broken; arms all right. Good!"
Sheila's long lashes fluttered against her cheeks, she sighed and opened her eyes.
"Casey," she said, "never mind me. Look out for yourself. Where's Tom? There are men coming to-night. I was afraid——"