“Yore guess is as good as mine,” he said, buttoning to the neck a leather coat.
“Can’t we have more light in here? It’s dark. If you’d draw back that window curtain—”
“Then Mr. Bushwhacker would get a chanct for another shot,” he said dryly. “No, I reckon we’ll leave the curtain where it’s at.”
Her big startled eyes held fascinated to his. “You don’t think they’d shoot him again now.”
“Mebbeso. My notion is better not give ’em a show to get at him. You keep the door closed. I’ll not be long. I see you got a gun.”
There was something significant in the way he said it. Her heart began to beat fast.
“You don’t think—?”
“No, I don’t. If I did, I’d stay right here. Not a chanct in a hundred. How far back’s yore friend?”
“Less than a mile.”
“Well, he’s likely been movin’ right along. When I reach the ridge, I’ll give him the high sign an’ leave the skis stickin’ up in the snow there.”