In a flash Ramey was on his knees beside the younger man. Dr. Aiken, too, and Sheila.
"Johnny, what's the matter? You're not—"
Grinnell tried to grin. An unfortunate attempt, for with the effort suddenly he coughed and the corners of his lips leaked blood. He spat and shook his head angrily.
"Lucky ... shot! But I guess ... it did ... the trick."
"You'll be okay," Ramey told him gruffly. "Barrett! Syd! Give me a hand here—"
But even as he gave the order his eyes found Dr. Aiken's, and the old man's head shook slowly from side to side. His lips formed soundless words.
"No use, Ramey."
The voice of Grinnell echoed. "It's no ... use, Ramey. I was a ... med student once." His eyes hardened to a granite doggedness. "You others ... beat it! Get out of here while ... you can!" Again a paroxysm of coughing seized him. When it ended his shirtfront was not pretty. He wiped at his lips with a grimy forearm, cried feverishly, "Get out ... damn it! Get out ... I say!"
Then a sudden thought struck him. He turned to Ramey. "No, wait! Lift me ... to the doorway there—"