"And not because of a pistol shot?"
"Less for that than for the other. I allow it any man's privilege to shoot at me if he doesn't like me; but no man's nor woman's privilege to laugh."
"How do you know it was I who shot you?... Did you see?"
"Had I seen, I should not have held it against you; for that would have meant that you struck in the open, any man's or woman's right! But to shoot a man in the back.... Here; help me!"
She was perplexed to know what he meant. He dragged her after him, a dozen paces from the fire; still holding her two hands caught in his one, he sat down upon a big stone. Suddenly it struck her that all this time, since he had dropped his rifle, his left arm had been hanging limply at his side.
"When I let go of you," he said, very stern, "if you try to run for it I'll catch you and drag you back. And I'm in no mood for gentleness!" At that he let her go. He put his right hand to his shirt collar and began unbuttoning it.
"My wound has broken open," he said, with a grunt of disgust. "That Baby Devil of yours didn't care where he hit a man!... Here; there's a bandage that has slipped. And I'm losing blood again. See what you can do."
"Why should I?" she demanded coolly. "What is it to me whether or not you bleed to death?"
Fury filled his eyes and he shouted at her: