“He didn’t hit you!” She strangled a sob.
“No. Falkner fired from the store window. It must have shaken his aim. He hit Larry.”
Rowan turned swiftly to his friend, who grinned feebly up at him.
“ ’S all right, Mac. I’ll ride in a heap of round-ups yet. He punctured my shoulder.”
“Good! Let’s have a look at it.”
A fat little man with a doctor’s case puffed up to the porch as McCoy was cutting away the shirt of the wounded man from the shoulder.
“Here! Here! Wha’s the matter? Lemme see. Get water—bandages,” he exploded in staccato snorts like the engine of a motor cycle.
Ruth flew into the house to obey orders. When she returned with a basin of water and towels the doctor had gone.
“Doc is over looking at Tait,” explained her husband. “Says Larry has only a flesh wound. We’ll take him home with us in the car. You don’t mind?”
“Of course we’ll look after him till he’s well,” Ruth agreed.