The man was hit as Dave had meant him to be hit. He started, and his clenched hand went up as though about to strike. The devil in his eyes was appalling.
"Now go! Quick!"
The word leaped from the lumberman's lips, and his gun went up threateningly. For a moment it seemed as though Truscott was about to spring upon him, regardless of the weapon's shining muzzle. But he did not move. A gun in Dave's hand was no idle threat, and he knew it. Besides he had not the moral strength of the other.
He moved to the door and opened it. Then for one fleeting second he looked back. It may have been to reassure himself that the gun was still there, it may have been a last expression of his hate. Another moment and he was gone. Dave replaced his gun beneath the blankets and sighed.
Betty sprang into the room.
"Hello, door open?" she demanded, glancing about her suspiciously. Then her sparkling eyes came back to the injured man.
"Do you hear, Dave?" she cried, in an ecstasy of excitement. "Did you hear the siren! I pulled and held the valve cord! Did you hear it! Thank God!"
Dave's happy smile was sufficient for the girl. Had he heard it? His heart was still ringing with its echoes.
"Betty, come here," he commanded. "Help me up."
"Why——"