"Sore hands," repeated Loudon, stupidly. "Why, I—I heard her thumb was tore pretty bad, but—but I didn't know both of 'em was hurt."
"Yes, the young lady's right thumb has quite a gash, and the palm of her left hand is cut all the way across. She cut it on a rock!"
"Cut it on a rock?"
"On a rock! She was comin' out o' the house, she said, an' she tripped on the doorsill an' fell. Fell pretty heavy, Her hand was sho' cut quite a lot."
"Lemme get this straight. Yuh say she cut her left hand, an' on a rock?"
"Yes, Tom," said Captain Burr, gently, "that's the how of it."
Without a word Loudon turned and fled. Five minutes later, mounted on Bill Lainey's toughest horse, he was galloping out of Farewell. Two miles out he passed Mr. Saltoun. The latter called to him but received no response save a hand-wave.
"Well," observed Mr. Saltoun, "if he's changed his mind about that job, he's shore actin' mighty odd."
Within two hours after leaving Farewell Loudon halted his staggering pony in front of the Bar S ranch house. In the hammock on the porch sat Kate Saltoun. Her face was rather white, and there were dark shadows beneath her black eyes.
Loudon sucked in his breath sharply at the sight of the poor, bandaged hands. Kate sat motionless, her gaze level, her face without expression. Loudon felt like a stranger.