After watching his frank face a moment she shook her head.
“No, never heard tell of such a thing. If they’re all dead, what’s the good of worryin’ about ’em anyway?”
He shrugged and moved on toward the charred sticks, meanwhile turning the conversation into another channel.
“How’s the ankle?”
She probed under the blanket, threw the covering aside, pushed herself up, and took a tentative step.
“Why, by mighty, mister! You’re a reg’lar doctor! It’s sore, but it ain’t half as bad as ’twas. It hurt terrible last night when I——”
She stopped abruptly, but her eyes went to the entrance.
“When you came and covered me up? Serves you right. That was the most foolish thing—but I thank you, just the same.”
Her lips opened, but for a moment no word came. Her eyes still were fixed on the narrow slit, and a little frown of concentration furrowed her brow. He pivoted and squinted against the glare of the rising sun now darting in at that crack. Then she spoke—low and tense.
“Where’s your gun? Layin’ there?”