"I'm not hurt. I'm all right."
"But that wretch, Joel. He—"
"He'd killed his father—just a—minute—before you came. I fought him! Oh! ... But I'm all right.... Did you—"
"Wildfire ran him down—smashed him.... Lucy! this can't be true.... Yet I feel you! Thank God!"
With her free hand Lucy returned his clasp. She seemed to be strong. It was a precious moment for Slone, in which he was uplifted beyond all dreams.
"Let me loose—a second," she said. "I want to—get in your coat."
She laughed as he released her. She laughed! And Slone thrilled with unutterable sweetness at that laugh.
As he turned away he felt a swift wind, then a strange impact from an invisible force that staggered him, then the rend of flesh. After that came the heavy report of a gun.
Slone fell. He knew he had been shot. Following the rending of his flesh came a hot agony. It was in his shoulder, high up, and the dark, swift fear for his life was checked.
Lucy stood staring down at him, unable to comprehend, slowly paling. Her hands clasped the coat round her. Slone saw her, saw the edge of streaming clouds of smoke above her, saw on the cliff beyond the gorge two men, one with a smoking gun half leveled.