“Why, no,” answered the doctor, in surprise; “they said Mrs. Dwight was badly shocked. Was Carson really hurt?”
“We were trying to find out,” said the Major. “He went on to the jail with the sheriff, determined to see Pete protected.”
There was a sound of an opening door and old Dwight came out to the fence, hatless, coatless, and pale. “Come right in, doctor,” he said, grimly. “There's no time to lose.”
“Is it as bad as that?” Stone asked.
“She's dying, if I'm any judge,” was the answer. “She was standing at the window and heard that pistol-shot and saw Carson was hit. She fell flat on the floor. We've done everything, but she's still unconscious.”
The two men went hastily into the room where Mrs. Dwight lay, and they were barely out of sight when Helen noticed some one rapidly approaching from the direction of the jail. It was Keith Gordon, and as he entered the gate he laid his hand on Linda's shoulder and said, cheerily, “Don't worry now; Pete is safe and the mob is dispersing.”
“But Carson,” Major Warren asked; “was he hurt?”
“We don't exactly know yet.” Keith was now at Helen's side, looking into her wide-open, anxious eyes. “He wouldn't stop a second to be examined. He was afraid something might occur to alter the temper of the mob and wasn't going to run any risks. The crowd, fortunately for Pete, was made up mostly of towns-people. One man from the mountains, a blood relative of the Johnsons, could have kindled the blaze again with a word, and Carson knew it. He was more worried about his mother than anything else. She was at the window and he saw her fall; he urged me to hurry back to tell her he was all right. I'll go in.”
But he was detained by the sound of voices down the street. It was a group of half a dozen men, and in their midst was Carson Dwight, violently protesting against being supported.
“I tell you I'm all right!” Helen heard him saying. “I'm not a baby, Garner; let me alone!”