Jordan Morse was peering in upon the enraged trio. He saw the man he’d hired to help him take the first knock down and get up swiftly. He saw Theodore King make another dive at the wood gatherer. The cobbler was in direct range of Jordan’s vision, and he slipped his hand into his pocket, from which he took a revolver. Two quick, short cracks, and the pistol came flying through the room and landed near the cobbler’s bench. Then the kitchen door slammed suddenly. Theodore staggered forward and sank slowly to the floor, while Maudlin fell headlong without a cry.
As in a maze Lafe heard a motor leap away like a mad thing. Through the window he could see Theodore’s car where the young man had left it. He made a desperate effort to rise, but sank back with a shuddering groan. He forced his eyes to Bates, who was close to the shop door, then dragged them backward to Mr. King, whose head was almost under his bench. Each had received a bullet, and both lay breathing unconsciously. The cobbler stooped over and placed his hand under Theodore’s head to straighten it a little. For a full minute nothing was heard but the loud rattling in Maudlin’s throat and the steady, laborious breath of the man at his feet.
Sudden tears diffused the cobbler’s eyes, and he leaned over and tenderly touched the damp forehead of Jinnie’s friend.
“He’s given His angels charge over thee, boy,” he murmured, just as Jinnie, leading Bobbie by the hand, walked in.
The girl took one impetuous step forward and noted Lafe’s white, agonized face. Then she caught a glimpse of the stricken men on the floor. Her tongue refused its 239 office, and dropping the blind child’s fingers, she came quickly forward.
“Call help! Hurry! Get a doctor!” gasped Lafe, and Jinnie, without saying a word, rushed out.
Afterward she could not measure with accuracy the events of that afternoon. Peggy came home and put the terrified Bobbie in bed, telling him curtly to stay there until she allowed him to get up. Several doctors rushed in and examined both Theodore and Maudlin. Not one word had escaped Jinnie’s pale lips until the wounded men were removed from the shop. Then she sank at the cobbler’s feet.
“Will he die?” she whispered, in awe-stricken tones.
“Maudlin’s dyin’,” replied the cobbler, with bowed head, “an’ Mr. King’s awful bad off, the doctor says.”
Jinnie went to Lafe’s side and put her arm about his neck, and as if it had never been, their joy was blotted out by the hand of a bloody tragedy.