He was down on his knees by her side now, raising her head.
"Get help—quick!"
Sanders took the shortest way of doing this. He, too, was alarmed now. Raising his gun above his head, he pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. As many sharp flashes leaped into the air, and as many quick reports followed.
"Sure she ain't a spirit?" demanded the cowman, peering down suspiciously, fearfully. He could make out the form on the ground but dimly.
"Don't be foolish. Run out there and meet them. I hear the ponies coming. Don't let any of them use their guns, in the excitement, or some one may get hurt," warned Tad Butler, with rare judgment.
Big-foot hurried out into the open. In the meantime Tad stroked the face and head of the woman. She was unconscious, but her flesh seemed warm to his touch.
"I wonder what it means," the perplexed boy asked himself. Tad could feel his own pulses beating against his temples. It seemed to him as if all the blood in his body were hurling itself against them.
Cowboys on their ponies came thundering up from different directions. In the lead was Bob Stallings, the foreman of the outfit.
"You idiots!" he shouted. "Do you want to stampede the herd again? What do you mean?"
"I've winged a spook!" yelled Big-foot Sanders. "She's over there by the steps now. The kid's got her."