He could feel the wet blood soaking through the shirt. The thought of it almost made him lose consciousness again.
“L-let’s have a look,” a squeaky voice said.
June looked up. Blister had arrived panting on the scene. Larson was on his heels.
“We better carry him to the hotel,” the cattleman said to the justice. “Who did it?”
“Houck,” June sobbed. She was not weeping, but her breath was catching.
Bob tried to rise, but firm hands held him down. “I can walk,” he protested. “Lemme try, anyhow.”
“No,” insisted June.
Blister knelt beside Dillon. “Where’s the wound at?” he asked.
The young fellow showed him.
“J-June, you go get Doc T-Tuckerman,” Blister ordered.