“I don’t know,” and Allan touched it tenderly. “It’s pretty sore.”
“Let’s see,” said Jed, and seizing the swollen organ, he wiggled it back and forth, not regarding the boy’s pained protest. “No, it ain’t broke,” he announced, after a moment. “Hurt any place else?”
“I think not,” Allan replied, feeling himself all over. “Nothing more than a few bruises, at least. But aren’t you hurt? I thought you were dead.”
Jed passed his hand over his head again, and laughed.
“So did that feller who put his pistol to my head an’ pulled th’ trigger,” he said. “You see, they all piled on me so that it wasn’t fer some time I could git an arm loose an’ git my gun out.”
“I thought the station was coming down,” Allan remarked, “from the noise you made. It felt like an earthquake.”
“Yes, we did bump around considerable. Well, when I got my gun out, I jest fired it into th’ air sort o’ haphazard, an’ winged one o’ them.”
“Through the hand; it was he who shot at you.”
“He didn’t take no chance,” said Jed. “He made a lucky kick in th’ dark an’ caught me right on th’ wrist an’ knocked th’ pistol clean out o’ my hand. Then I felt th’ cold muzzle of a revolver pressin’ agin my head, an’ I reckoned Jed Hopkins’s time was up. Then I didn’t know no more till th’ fire begun t’ burn one hand, an’ that woke me up.”