“Carlson’s? What business could you–––”
“Didn’t he tell you about it, Joan?”
“Who, Dad?”
“Mackenzie.”
“He hasn’t spoken since he stumbled into Dad’s camp last night. He’s going to die!”
“Oh, not that bad, Joan?” Reid jerked his horse about with quick hand as he spoke, making as if to start down at once to the camp where the wounded schoolmaster lay. “Why, he walked off yesterday afternoon like he wasn’t hurt much. Unconscious?”
Joan nodded, a feeling in her throat as if she choked on cold tears.
“I didn’t think he got much of a jolt when Swan took his gun away from him and soaked him over the head with it,” said Reid, regretfully.
“You were there, and you let him do it!” Joan felt that she disparaged Mackenzie with the accusation as soon as the hasty words fell from her tongue, but biting the lips would not bring them back.