Mac Rawls had a red streak across one cheek, where a bullet had narrowly missed ruining his face, and Kendall Marsh had a bullet scrape across his right elbow, which caused him considerable pain.
Della was still there, unhurt, but willing to go back to Medicine Tree as soon as possible. The room smelled strongly of kerosene from the smashed lamp, and bits of glass were scattered around the floor.
“This was a hell of a failure,” stated Kendall Marsh glumly. It was about the tenth time he made such a statement.
“Yeah, that’s a cinch,” agreed Van Deen. “We had him all ready to talk, too. Now, it’s too late—he’ll never talk. But who hit Terry?”
Terry didn’t know. He saw a lot of stars, and that was all the information he could offer. He didn’t even hear the shotgun go off, but he had a skinned chin, probably caused by the kick of the weapon when his fingers convulsively jerked at the two triggers.
“Could it have been that damn’ Injun?” wondered Marsh.
“Jules Mendoza?” asked Van Deen. “That’s about who it was.”
“I hope it was. If it was any other Painted Valleyite, they probably heard more than I’d care to have ’em hear. One of you better escort this woman back to town. She’s been scared out of ten years’ growth.”
“I’m all right,” said Della. “I fell over somebody in the dark.”
“So did I,” complained Mac Rawls. “I reckon it was Nolan, because whoever it was they almost busted my right shin with somethin’.”