“Out of his head,” said Duke. “That bullet must have cracked his skull.”
The Saint looked curiously at Duke.
“Are you from St. Pierre?” he asked.
“He don’t know you,” whispered Luck.
The Saint bowed his head for a moment and then looked back at Duke.
“Did they find her?” he whispered hoarsely. “Did they?”
“Take it easy, pardner,” soothed Duke.
“I’ll have to get yuh out of here ahead of a rope. They ain’t lookin’ for her; they’re lookin’ for us.”
“My father sent me home,” explained Luck. “I ran out of the street when the shooting began and he grabbed me. He was very angry and made me come home. The—the men who got shot were friends of my father.
“But I didn’t come home—then,” she continued, after a moment’s pause. “I heard them say they were going to hang you both.”