“Yes’m. I’ve took care of fellows shot up before.”
“Bleed much?”
“Right smart. Did you hear when Doc Rayburn was comin’?”
“He’s on the way.” She found cold water and bathed the burning face.
“Wisht he’d hustle along,” the range rider said uneasily.
“He won’t be long.” With a flare of anger she turned on Black. “Who shot him?”
“I dunno. He was shot through the window whilst he was ondressin’ for bed. We come together from the old Thorwaldson cabin a while before.”
“Did that Cig do it?”
“Might have, at that.” Black was putting on his webs. “Reckon I’ll drift back an’ pick up yore friend Merrick.”
“Yes,” she said absently. “It was that tramp Cig or Jake Prowers, one.”