"You heard one shot?" said Deering.
"I don't know—I'd hit my head and was trying to find my rifle. Well, I guess that's all!"
"I shot twice," said Jimmy, in a quiet voice. "I don't think Bob used a gun. All the same, when I pulled the trigger I imagined I heard another report; but perhaps it was my rifle. I really don't know."
"The number of shots is important," Stannard observed.
Deering looked up sharply. "To find out is the police's job. Ours is not to help."
"We ought to help," Jimmy rejoined. "I thought a deer was coming; I had no object for shooting the warden, but if my bullet hit him, the police must not blame Bob." He turned to the others. "How many shots did you hear?"
Perhaps it was strange, but nobody knew. A packer thought he heard three shots, although he admitted he might have been cheated because the reports echoed in the woods. After a few moments they let it go and Deering glanced at the man on the floor.
"Maybe he knows. I doubt if he will tell!"
The trooper advanced awkwardly. "Give me a light. I'm going across the clearing; I want to see your stands."
For the most part, the others went with him. Their curiosity was keen and it looked as if nobody reflected that the lad was their antagonist. In fact, since they carried in the warden, all antagonism had vanished. Jimmy, however, remained behind. He was on the floor and did not want to get up. After the strain, he was bothered by a dull reaction and felt slack. By and by Stannard returned and sat down on the boards.