‘You and the other two—get into the sedan—before they explode the second powder house. One of my own natives probably. Get into—get into the sedan—’ subdued, sincere, not an extra syllable. Father and daughter—they had found each other. Cal and Slim had found each other. Elbert bent. ‘I didn’t mean to be so long—’ he said.
The one arm tightened around him. Another match was struck. Florabel screamed at the sight of her father’s face. ‘Mexicali’ drew the hollow of his sleeve down over it. ‘Shut up, Flo’,’ he said in the same subdued way. ‘Just a scratch. Pile into the sedan—’
‘I can’t move.’
‘You must—who’s this lyin’ across your lap?’
‘That’s Imogen. She’s fainted. She did it before.’
‘I’ll put her into the sedan. Come on—’
‘I can’t—’
‘I’ll lift you in.’
‘I can’t drive—’ The sentences shot back and forth; even Cal Monroid spoke: ‘Speakin’ of drivin’—that’s the Kid’s job—’ all while the second match burned.
‘Sure, Elbert’ll drive,’ from Slim.