The man’s brows contracted, whether from pain or anger Louisa could not determine.
“Where’s the fool that shot me?” the man asked.
“Where are you, Alison?” said Louisa with a broad smile.
Alison came forward with a questioning look. “Do you want me?”
“Yes, he wants to look at you.”
“That? That little squeak of a gal? You’re giving me something I can’t swaller,” said the man.
“All the same she’s the one. I know I didn’t do it, for there ain’t a pistol wound on ye. The rifle shot struck you and sorter stunned ye more than it killed ye, and ye just natchelly dropped. We’ve got your horse and our best one, and when you’re able you can get it back, if the boys’ll let ye.”
“There, Louisa, there,” remonstrated Christine. “Wait till he is better.”
“Oh, fire away. I don’t like soft solder, and I rather like her sass. As long as I’m not kilt I kin light out and make tracks for home, I reckon.”
“You kin, but you won’t,” said Louisa. “I reckon you’ll find you’re not as strong as ye think, and moreover if you try to git away there’ll be somebody outside to put a bullet in ye that’ll do better work than Allie’s. We don’t let horse thieves git away so easy as all that.”