“What’s the matter with him?”
“Wal, he’s hurt tolerable bad,” was the slow reply.
Ellen heard Colter’s spurs jangle, as if he had uneasily shifted his feet.
“Where’s dad an’ Uncle Jackson?” asked Ellen.
A silence pregnant enough to augment Ellen’s dread finally broke to Colter’s voice, somehow different. “Shore they’re back on the trail. An’ we’re to meet them where we left Tad.”
“Are yu goin’ away again?”
“I reckon.... An’, Ellen, y’u’re goin’ with us.”
“I am not,” she retorted.
“Wal, y’u are, if I have to pack y’u,” he replied, forcibly. “It’s not safe heah any more. That damned half-breed Isbel with his gang are on our trail.”
That name seemed like a red-hot blade at Ellen’s leaden heart. She wanted to fling a hundred queries on Colter, but she could not utter one.