"Red" rose slowly. His voice was almost a whisper. "He's alive!" he breathed.
Gilbert, who had not taken Uncle Henry's word seriously, could not doubt "Red's" verdict.
"Alive!" he said. "Oh, it can't be!"
For the first time Lucia moved. Her lips opened. "Alive!" she managed to say. Again the world crumbled for her.
"It was only a flesh wound," "Red" said. "The bullet just grazed his head."
Lucia looked up. She was ashen. She was older, and her eyes seemed to have lost their fire. "He's—really—alive?" she got out. She stared down at her husband.
"They should of shot 'im in the stomach!" Uncle Henry stated. What a mess! What rotten luck, ran through his weary brain.
Pell's foot moved again. Then his arm went up; and slowly he rose on one elbow, pushed away the tablecloth that touched his head, and looked about him. He was like a man awaking from a sound slumber. He was dazed, mystified. In the almost complete darkness, he could not distinguish faces.
"What was it? What happened?" he inquired, in a hollow voice—a voice from the tomb!
No one answered. They were all terror-stricken.