“I’m not goin’ to run away,” said Jimmy. “See if you can’t do somethin’ for the old man before the doctor gets here. If you can’t, I can. I know something about first aid.”
“Hop to it,” said Roaring.
Jimmy started to go into the bedroom but Dawn stepped in front of him.
“Mother knows what to do,” she said evenly.
Jimmy stared at her and his face twisted painfully.
“Can’t I help her, Dawn?” he asked.
“I’m helping her,” she said and turned away.
Jimmy walked across the room and stared out through the branch-covered window against which he had thrown the gravel. The men were silent. Some of them rolled smokes, but went out on the porch to light them. They could hear the drip of water, as the old Indian woman squeezed out a towel; they heard a whispered conversation between Dawn and her mother.
Roaring went outside and hunted in the grass just off the porch, where he found Moses Conley’s revolver. It was an old, single-action Colt .45, and in one of the cylinders was an empty cartridge. He brought it into the house to examine it. Franklyn Moran saw the empty shell.
“How many shots were fired?” he asked softly.