“Hurt yourself?” asked Cultus.
“My ankle,” she whispered. “I think it’s broken.”
“What did yuh do, jump off the roof?”
“Yes. And I’ve got to get away from here,” she whispered. “Help me up, Collins.”
On her feet she essayed a step, but the ankle would not bear her weight. She leaned heavily on him, almost crying from the pain.
“Where can I take yuh?” he asked. “Back in the saloon?”
“No, not in there! I can’t go back. They want to take me out to the Triangle X to-night, and I was—was getting away.”
“Uh-huh,” grunted Cultus. He knew now why Rawls had left the team at an obscure hitchrack.
He picked her up in his arms and circled the back of the buildings to a corner of the livery stable corral, where he set her down on a pile of old lumber. It was so dark that no one could see them there, and they were far enough away from everybody to talk above a whisper.
“Hurts pretty bad, eh?” he asked.