“A man came here last night, wounded and faint. I tried to help him, but he was beyond help. Stacy, the poor fellow died. Those ruffians had shot him. I do not think the man who shot him was the one who made a shield of me, but it was one of the same gang.”
“Di—died!” gasped Stacy.
“Yes, in a few minutes after he got here. I have his horse hidden some little distance from here.”
“Whe—whe—where is he?”
“There!” she announced gently, pointing to the bunk. “We can’t leave him there, Stacy. There is something to be done, and I just can’t bring myself to do it.”
Stacy, his eyes large and round, backed hurriedly from the shack.
“Come on out. I can’t talk in there any more,” he urged, and Elfreda joined him at once. “Let me think. I can’t do it, either. I can fight a bad man, or wild animals, but this—this I—I can’t. Why did they shoot him?”
“They said he was a horse thief, but I know better. He possessed information that they wanted. This fellow that you sent away found the man’s saddle, though I don’t know how he chanced to discover it. The horse he may have discovered also, but I hardly think so. If not, we can take the animal and try to find our way back to Silver Creek.”
“Yes. Let’s find the horse. We can send Ham White back to do what you said. Where is the horse?”
“We will go look for him, but we must proceed with caution,” said Elfreda. “Take your revolver and I will take mine. You fall in behind. I will lead because I know the way.”