With a curse of rage Colton dashed aside his useless rifle and sprung after Morton. There was reason in his action, for he knew that his life would be in peril as long as the outlaw lived.
Twice he fired, but without apparent effect. The Night-Hawk leader sprung into a saddle, then urged his horse to rapid flight. Colton promptly imitated this action, and the two, pursued and pursuer, soon disappeared without the line of light shed by the blazing dwelling.
“Look to these devils, Ruel,” hurriedly uttered Campbell, as he looked around upon the scene. “If any are living bind them. We’ll have a hanging bee here to-morrow!”
“Oh, Ned!” sobbed Mrs. Colton, “come to Henry—quick! He’s dying!”
“No—he’s only hurt a little, not much. He’ll be all right in a minute or two,” soothingly uttered Campbell, though far from being so confident in his heart. “How is it, Colton, old fellow?”
The settler smiled faintly, then murmured his wife’s name. She was beside him in a moment, and then, with her hand clasped in his, he swooned.
“Now, Mary,” uttered Ned, as firmly as he could, “be strong—nerve yourself, for on you may depend Henry’s life. If you take on this way it’ll kill him, sure.”
“I will—I’ll be calm. But is there hope—he is not dead?”
“Pooh! far from it. You’ll not be a widow for many a long year yet, my dear sister. It’s only loss of blood, with the excitement, you see.”
While he spoke, Campbell was carefully examining Colton’s wound, and to his great joy, found that he had told the truth, unknowingly. Only one bullet had struck him, severing a minor artery in the left thigh, causing a profuse flow of blood, but nothing that rest and quiet would not cure.