"He's done good work, the lad!" said Flaherty; and Wid Gardner, still standing by, nodded his head.
"Mighty good. It was him got the Chink all right—hit him twict out of three, and creased him onct; and like enough this Dutchman first, too. Tell me, Doc, ain't he got a chanct to come through? Can't you make it out that way for pore old Sim?"
"I'm afraid not," said Doctor Barnes. "The shot's close to an artery, and like enough he's bleeding internally, because he's coughing. His pulse is jumpy. It's too bad—too damn bad. He was—a good man, Sim Gage!"
"What was it, Annie?" asked Mary Gage, over in their house. "There was shooting. Was anybody hurt?"
"Some of the hands got to mixing it, like enough," said Annie, herself pale and shaking. "I don't know."
"Was anybody hurt?"
"I haven't had time to find out. Oh, my God! Sis, I wish't we'd never come out here to this country at all. I want my mother, that's what I want! I'm sick with all this." She began to cry, sobbing openly. Mary Gage, now the stronger, drew the girl's head down into her own arms.
"You mustn't cry," said she. "Annie, we've got to pull together."
"I guess so," said Annie, sobbing, "both of us. But I'm so lonesome—I'm so awful scared."
The morning came slowly, at length fully, cool and softly luminous. The friends of Sim Gage, all men, stood near his bedside. His eyes opened sometimes, looking with curious languor around him, as though some problem were troubling him. At length he turned toward Wid, who stood close to him.