The men ran off up the alley on the new scent, and McCullough turned back into the kitchen. Mary had collapsed into a chair and was sobbing with her head in her arms. The two children clung to her, staring wide-eyed at the bodies of the natives.
McCullough walked over and patted her on the back. "It's OK now, Mary," he said. "It's OK, nothing to worry about now." His wife went on crying, and he stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do.
He noticed that the dark purplish blood of the natives, almost black, was spreading in little rivulets and pools over the kitchen floor. The floor was of sanded white wood, and stained easily. There were some folded tarps in the lean-to where McCullough kept his tools. He got one and rolled the bodies over onto it. As he did so, he saw that one of them, the second one he had shot, was still alive. The shot had gone low and mangled the native's upper leg. He stared up at McCullough with opaque expressionless eyes, slowly bleeding to death.
It was an embarrassing situation. McCullough was not any more callous than the next man, but he found himself wishing his aim had been better. He could hardly allow the Centauran to lie there and bleed to death while he watched, but neither did he feel any particular responsibility in the matter. The native had got what he was asking for, and that was that.
Finally he took the native's leather belt and tightened it around the leg for a tourniquet, got another tarp and spread it on the cot, and laid the native on it. The corpse he rolled in the first tarp and pushed under the cot. Throughout the injured Centauran said nothing, either in thanks or protest, although the leg must have been painful.
He had just finished when he heard voices in the front yard.
Henry Watts was there with half a dozen other men carrying guns and clubs, all looking the worse for wear. Two were dragging a Centauran corpse by the pants legs.
Watts mopped at his sweaty, blood-stained face with his shirt-tail. "You still got those two grayskins in there?" he asked.
McCullough nodded.
"Fine, we'll take 'em off your hands now." Watts half-turned to the men behind him. "Come on, give me a hand to drag 'em out." He started up the steps.