"You pulled the trigger, Tom," said she, calmly. "My thumb's caught."
Loudon raised the hammer, and the hand fell away. The tender flesh of the thumb was cruelly torn. The blood dripped on the grass. Loudon holstered his six-shooter.
"Gimme yore hand," ordered Loudon, roughly.
He lifted her hand, placed her thumb to his lips, and sucked the wound clean. Kate watched him in silence. When the edges of the torn flesh were white and puckery Loudon cut away part of Kate's sleeve and made a bandage of the fabric.
"Guess yuh'll be all right now," he said. "But yuh hadn't ought to 'a' done a fool trick like that. Yuh might 'a' got lockjaw."
"Thank you," Kate said, white-lipped. "Why—why don't you give me fits for—for helping him to escape?"
"It's done," Loudon replied, simply. "Yuh had yore reasons, I guess."
"Yes, I had my reasons." Kate's tone was lifeless.
Without another word they walked back to where Laguerre stood beside the sumac bushes. The half-breed's face was impassive, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye as he threw a quick look at Kate.
"You'll be leavin' us now, Miss Saltoun," observed Loudon, coldly. "I'll get yuh Rudd's pony."