“That’s just what I must discover. Excuse me for a moment.”
She passed through the house, and the young man heard a shrill whistle blown, which was answered by a call some distance away. The girl returned, and sat down again, her brow perplexed, and presently there came on to the platform a stalwart, good-natured looking man, dressed in what Stranleigh took to be a cowboy costume; at least, it was the kind of apparel he had read about in books of the Wild West. His head was covered with a broad-brimmed slouch hat, which he swept off in deference to the lady.
“Jim,” she said, “did you hear any shooting out by the Bleachers trail about an hour ago?”
“No, Ma’am; I can’t say that I did, except a rifle I shot off.”
“That you shot off! What were you shooting at?”
“Well,” said Jim, with a humorous chuckle, “I guess perhaps it was this gentleman.”
“Why did you wish to murder me?” asked Stranleigh, with pardonable concern.
“Murder you, sir? Why, I didn’t try to murder you. I could have winged you a dozen times while you were riding down to the house, if I’d wanted to. Where were you hit?”
“In the left shoulder.”