Mackenzie did not reply. He stood in the middle of the room where his combat with Swan had taken place, among the debris of broken dishes, wrecked table, fallen stovepipe and tinware, looking about him with grim interest. There was nobody in the other room, but the blood from Swan’s hurt trailed across the floor as if he had been helped to the bed. Tim took his courage in both hands and came just inside the door.
“Man! Look at the blood!” he said.
“There’s nobody here,” Mackenzie told him, turning to go.
“She’s took him to the doctor,” said Tim.
“Where is that?”
“There’s a kind of a one over on the Sweetwater, sixty miles from here, but there’s no good one this side of Jasper.”
“He’ll die on the way,” Mackenzie said conclusively.
“No such luck,” said Tim. “Look! There’s the chain he tied that woman of his up with.”
“We’d better go back and get at that hay,” Mackenzie said. “There’s nothing I can do for Carlson.”