“You're good—and you've been noble,” he said. “But I wish—you'd only been bad. Then I'd curse you—and strangle you—presently.”
“Perhaps you had best be quiet,” replied Joan.
“No. I've been shot before. I'll get over this—if my back's not broken. How can we tell?”
“I've no idea.”
“Lift me up.”
“But you might open your wound,” protested Joan.
“Lift me up!” The force of the man spoke even in his low whisper.
“But why—why?” asked Joan.
“I want to see—if I can sit up. If I can't—give me my gun.”
“I won't let you have it,” replied Joan. Then she slipped her arms under his and, carefully raising him to a sitting posture, released her hold.