“No. He’s all right. There he is over there by the wagons. See? Lookin’ after the gold in the sack.”
Blister came to the door of the bank in time to hear Mollie’s question. “McCray’s been s-shot—here in the bank.”
“Bring him in too,” ordered Mollie.
The wounded men were given first aid and carried into the hotel. There their wounds were dressed by the doctor.
In the corridor outside Bob and his partner met June coming out of one of the rooms where the invalids had been taken. She was carrying a towel and some bandages.
“Got to get a move on me,” Dud said. “I got in after the fireworks were over. Want to join Blister’s posse now. You comin’, Bob?”
“Not now,” Dillon answered.
He was white to the lips. There was a fear in his mind that he might be going to disgrace himself by getting sick. The nausea had not attacked him until the shooting was over. He was much annoyed at himself, but the picture of the lusty outlaws lying in the dust with the life stricken out of them had been too much.
“All right. I’ll be hustlin’ along,” Dud said, and went.
Bob leaned against the wall.