“Dad!” she said. The old man's eyes opened and turned heavily toward her.
“All right, Juny. They shot me from the laurel and they might nigh got Bub. I reckon they've got me this time.”
“No—no!” He saw her eyes fixed on the matted blood on his chest.
“Hit's stopped. I'm afeared hit's bleedin' inside.” His voice had dropped to a whisper and his eyes closed again. There was another cautious “Hello” outside, and when Bub again opened the door Dave ran swiftly within. He paid no attention to June.
“I follered June back an' left my hoss in the bushes. There was three of 'em.” He showed Bub a bullet hole through one sleeve and then he turned half contemptuously to June:
“I hain't done it”—adding grimly—“not yit. He's as safe as you air. I hope you're satisfied that hit hain't him 'stid o' yo' daddy thar.”
“Are you going to the Gap for a doctor?”
“I reckon I can't leave Bub here alone agin all the Falins—not even to git a doctor or to carry a love-message fer you.”
“Then I'll go myself.”
A thick protest came from the bed, and then an appeal that might have come from a child.