“It’s nothin’ a-tall. Now don’t fuss, for the love of Mike. I’m all right. It’s all over. Let’s not have any shoutin’.”
May took his other arm. They passed up the steps, inside, into Sutherland’s bedroom.
“Now you leave us be, May,” he said. “I want to talk to Robin.”
“Please, daddy, tell me,” she begged. “Are you hurt badly? I must know.”
“No, girl, I ain’t, and that’s God’s truth,” he answered. “If I was I’d tell you. You ain’t the screamin’ kind. A bullet ripped up the flesh between my ribs, an’ that’s all. You seen me tore up a heap worse, one time. There’s nothin’ to worry about. You run along.”
She kissed him and left the room. Sutherland sat down on the edge of his bed, eased himself to the pillows, grinned feebly.
“I ain’t so young as I used to be,” he mumbled to Robin. “I want to get my wind for a spell. Then you can pull off my boots an’ help me undress.”
He shut his eyes. Robin stood waiting, silent.
In a minute or so old Adam spoke again.
“There. I felt kinda wabbly but it’s gone now. Give me a hand.”