Then, with no previous intimation that his delirium had dropped from him, the wounded man startled Betty by asking a rational question.
“Did you come to see how good a job you’d done?” he said quietly to Prowers.
The cowman shook his head, still with the Satanic grin. “No job of mine, son. I’m thorough.”
“Your orders, but maybe not your hand,” Hollister insisted feebly.
Betty moved into his line of vision, and to his startled brain the motion of her was like sweet unearthly music. He looked silently at her for a long moment.
“Am I still out of my head?” he asked. “It’s not really you, is it?”
“Yes,” she said, very gently. “You mustn’t talk.”
“In Black’s cabin, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Shot through the window, Black told me. Remember, if I don’t get well, it was this man or Cig that did it.”