Carmena's long lashes drooped upon her white cheeks. She drew back. Lennon turned aside his violently aching head. Across the living room he saw Pete cauterizing a bullet wound on the bare arm of a fellow Navaho with the astringent red sap of the sangre de dragon tree.
Elsie noticed Lennon's roving look of inquiry.
"They shot the other one on the ladder," she explained. "But Slade isn't hurt, and he hauled the ladder up. Cochise can't get us now."
"Not now," whispered Carmena. "But if Slade——"
Her low-pitched voice broke and hushed to a frightened silence.
Slade swaggered in from the anteroom and stood grinning as if very well satisfied with what he saw.