“What’s the matter, Mary,” he demanded, seizing her hands.
“Nothing,” she answered, dully. “How is he?”
“All right, I trust and pray, but hurt terribly, wickedly.”
He did not quite understand. Did she love Gordon? Was that why she looked so heart-broken? Taking her face in his two hands, he compelled her to look at him straight.
“Now tell me,” he said.
“Did I kill him?” she asked.
“Kill whom?”
“Why, him—Jesse Black.”
Then he understood.
“Mary, my girl, was it you? Were those last shots yours?” All the riotous love in him trembled on his tongue.