Horror and fear enabled him to spring up, plunge out of the open window, reach the horses, leap on one and go thundering away toward the moonlight mists as if Satan were at his heels.
There was a tumult at the Twin Star. There was hot mounting to pursue Lawrence and his companion. Carson had heard the shot. He had rushed down to find his daughter, shot in the side, supported in the arms of Frank Merriwell.
A few words had told Carson just what had happened.
He swore a fearful oath to follow Lawrence to death.
The girl heard the oath. She opened her eyes and whispered:
“Father—don’t! He didn’t mean—to shoot—me! It was—an—accident!”
“I’ll have the whelp stiff at my feet before morning!” vowed the revengeful rancher.
He gave orders for the preparing of horses. He saw his daughter carried to her room. He lingered till the old black housekeeper was at the bedside to bind up the wound and do her best to save the girl.
Then Carson bounded down the stairs and sent a cowboy flying off on horseback for the nearest doctor, a hundred miles away.
“Kill the horse under ye, if necessary, Prescott!” he had yelled at the cowboy. “Get the doctor here as quick as you can!”