As Mason fell, the girl had rushed to his side and partly caught him in her arms.
She was supporting his head and trying to stop the flow of blood that trickled from a wound in his right temple. The girl was deathly pale and watched the stricken man anxiously, as with tender care she loosened his shirt at the front. Bud’s face was set tense as he bent over and examined the wound.
“Bullet just creased him,” he announced briefly, his face lighting up. “He will be all right in an hour or two.”
Josephine’s heart leaped at the words. She had a deep admiration for this Easterner who had come among them to fight life’s battle anew. She shuddered as she realized how close the bullet had struck. Then a wave of reaction seized her and she trembled violently.
Bud had noticed her agitation and said kindly,
“Come, girl, this is no place for you. I will take you to the house.”
On his return, Mason had partly recovered and was talking with the ranch owner, who had bound up his wound. Mason smiled feebly as Bud came up to them.
“Fool stunt of mine to topple over the way I did,” he said, feeling of the bandage gingerly.
“Not so,” Bud protested quickly, while admiring the other’s iron nerve. “That was a close call you had, son. Lucky for you the halfbreed’s aim was bad.”
“I seem to get in bad all around,” Mason answered ruefully.