“What on earth hap—” I tried to ask, my breath fairly taken away. Bill got off his horse and came up to the gate.
“We’re all right, Mrs. Brook. I’m sorry you seen us ’fore we got fixed up a little; we just got mixed up some with Bohm—that’s all—’taint nothin’ serious. We look a whole lot worse than we feel, don’t we Ted?”
“You bet we do,” mumbled Ted from a cut and bleeding mouth, “but you ought to see Bohm, he’s a sight!”
Ted got off his horse with difficulty. “Gosh, it was great,” he said, leaning up against the fence for support.
“Come in and sit down, both of you, Charley will take your horses,” and I led the way into the house followed a little unsteadily by Bill and Ted, who collapsed on the first chairs they could reach.
I gave them some wine, washed off their blood-stained faces, and made protesting Ted go into my room and lie down. He was very pale, and I saw that he was faint.
I came back into the kitchen.
“Now, Bill, tell me about it. What happened and where is Bohm?”
“On his way back to Denver in the baggage car,” announced Bill, draining the last drop from the glass he still held in his hand.
I started, “Oh, Bill, you didn’t kill him?”