"You lost your man?" he said. "Get down."
Payne dismounted. "Yes, sir, I fancy he is dead," he said. "He tried the river, and the ice wouldn't carry him. I saw him ride away from here just after the first shot, and fancied he fired at Shannon. Have you seen him, sir?"
The other trooper moved his lantern, and Payne gasped as he saw a third man stooping, with the white face of his comrade close by his feet. Shannon appeared to recognize him, for his eyes moved a little and the gray lips fell apart. Then Payne turned his head aside while the other trooper nodded compassionately in answer to his questioning glance.
"I've sent one of the boys to Graham's for a wagon," said the Sergeant. "You saw the man who fired at him?"
"Yes, sir," said Trooper Payne.
"You knew him?" and there was a ring in the Sergeant's voice.
"Yes, sir," said the trooper. "At least he was riding Winston's horse, and had on the old long coat of his."
Sergeant Stimson nodded, and pointed to the weapon lying with blackened muzzle at his feet. "And I think you could recognize that rifle? There's F. Winston cut on the stock of it."
Payne said nothing, for the trooper signed to him. "I fancy Shannon wants to talk to you," he said.
The lad knelt down, slipped one arm about his comrade's neck, and took the mittened hand in his own. Shannon smiled up at him feebly.