He observed with surprise that she, too, was dressed in evening clothes, and rightly surmised that they had just come back from some social function.
“Is it serious?” asked Virginia, when he had laid his burden on the bed.
She was already clipping with a pair of scissors the sleeve from round the wound.
“It ought not to be,” he said after he had examined it. “The bullet has scorched along the fleshy part of the forearm. We must telephone for a doctor at once.”
She did so, then found water and cotton for bandages, and helped him make a temporary dressing. The patient recovered consciousness under the touch of the cold water, and asked: what was the matter.
“You have been hurt a little, but not badly I think. Don’t you remember? You came down and opened the door to let me in.”
“They were shooting at you. What for?” she wanted to know.
He smiled. “Don’t worry about that. It’s all over with. I’m sorry you were hurt in saving me,” said Yesler gently.
“Did I save you?” The gray eyes showed a gleam of pleasure.
“You certainly did.”