"Well, ye oughter if ye don't," snapped Mrs. Scattergood. "I never did believe in hidin' the trewth from folks. No good comes of it."
"What is it? What has happened to my father?" and Janice clutched at her arm.
"Wal, I've gone so fur, I might's well tell ye," the woman said, all of a flutter now. "Somebody oughter tell ye. Ye was bound to find it out, anyway."
"But what is it?"
"Broxton Day's been shot by them Mexicaners. He's shot, is a prisoner, an' I hear tell he ain't never likely to git out o' that plaguey country alive!"
"What do you mean? Has anything happened to daddy?"