The girl whimpered, moved restlessly, but did not open her eyes.
Dunc was suddenly impatient and angry. Hell's fire! He thought. I wish I'd never left the ridge in the first place!
But he had left the ridge. He had seen Ike shoot Mort Stringer and the girl. And he had heard some things that still stirred uneasily in his mind. If Ike had killed the girl, things would have been comparatively simple. Dunc could then have returned to his outpost position and pretended to the others that nothing had happened.
Now everything was confused in his mind. The girl was still alive and he had patched her up. And if Ike came back and found him here, there'd be hell to pay till Christmas!
Hell! Dunc thought. I don't know what to do. She'll die for sure if I walk off and leave her. If Ike doesn't come back and kill her first.
He waited there as long as he dared, wondering and pondering and raking his mind for the right thing to do. Ike oughtn't to have shot her, he decided finally. He just oughtn't to have shot a woman that way!
The nearest doctor was in Reunion, nearly forty miles away and most of it straight down. Likely the girl would be dead by the time he could get her there, should he decide to try such a fool stunt. What was even more likely, Ike Brunner would catch them and kill both of them before they'd gone a mile.
But these were only two of many considerations to be worked out in Dunc Lester's mind. Ike wanted this girl dead—and if he went against Ike's wishes, that was going to turn the gang against Dunc's family.
This was an important consideration. There weren't many hill families that didn't have some kind of tie-up with the Brunners, directly or indirectly, through brothers or cousins or uncles who were members of the gang. Turn against the gang, and the Lester family would have all the hills against them.
And of course, there was always the probability that the lowland law would be waiting to grab him the minute he came out of the timber—providing Ike let him get that far.
Dunc considered all these angles and liked none of them. But the longer he waited and the longer he looked at the girl, the more sure he was that he would try to save her.
Perversely, when the decision came, it angered him. I must be crazy as a coot! he thought savagely.
And while he thought it he was hacking at two tough saplings with his pocketknife. He found the work too slow with a knife, so he went to Mort's cabin and found an ax and while he was at it, a blanket, and came back to the edge of the clearing and went to work in earnest.
Chapter Six
It was directly after dinner, and Owen Toller was in the barn mending his work harness when he saw the two Stanley boys running across the fields toward the house. Bruce, the older boy, carried a long-barreled squirrel rifle across his chest as he ran. They seemed in a hurry.
Owen stepped outside and waved to them, and then the boys veered toward the barn instead of the house. “What's the rush?” Owen asked as they stopped in the barn doorway, blowing like horses.
“We was huntin', Marshal,” Bruce said, fighting for breath.
“For squirrels,” Bud put in. “Up in the woods.”
“That's where we saw them,” the older boy began again. “The woman looks like she's dead to me.”
“Wait a minute,” Owen said calmly. “You were up in the hills hunting and saw somebody. Bruce, you take it from there.”
“Well, Marshal,” Bruce panted, his breath gradually coming back to normal, “we was up by Indian Rock when we first seen them. There was this man on a horse, and there were two long poles lashed to the saddle, dragging in the dirt behind the horse.”
“An Indian travois,” Owen said.
“That's what it was, I guess. Anyway, there was a blanket fixed between these poles and the woman was tied down on the blanket.”
“She was dead,” Bud put in.
Bruce nodded. “She sure looked like it. Course, we didn't get too good a look. We was up on the rock lookin' down when they came past.”
Owen frowned slightly. “Did this man see you?”
“I don't think so, Marshal. We yelled, but he looked like he was asleep in the saddle. By the time we climbed down from the rock he was already at the bottom of the slope.”
“Where was he headed?”
“Toward Reunion, it looked like.” Then the boy thought of something else and said, “The man had a pistol and a shotgun. You think he's one of them hill outlaws, Marshal?”
“That wouldn't seem likely.” Owen smiled. “But if the woman's as sick as you say, maybe I ought to cut him off and see if I can lend a hand.”
The boys stared bug-eyed with excitement as Owen threw a saddle up on one of his big-bellied work horses. “Ain't you goin' to take a gun, Marshal?” Bruce asked. “That man looked pretty mean to me.”
“Me too!” Bud said quickly.
Owen laughed. “I don't think that will be necessary, boys.” He rode across the yard and called, “Elizabeth, the Stanley boys claim to have found a sick woman in the woods. Guess I'd better take a look.”
Elizabeth, holding Giles over her left shoulder, came outside on the back step. “A sick woman, Owen?”
“A man was bringing her down from the hills on a travois. I'd better see if we can give them a hand.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly, knowing that the hill people seldom came down toward Reunion. Then the frown disappeared and she smiled at her husband. “Of course, Owen. We can fix up the boys' room for her if you think it's necessary.”
“Probably it's not as bad as the boys made it out.” Then he waved to her and rode the awkward, iron-gaited mare around their small vegetable garden and toward the north.
He spotted the dusty, brush-scarred little bay through the trees, about a half hour's ride from the house. The saddle was empty. When Owen got closer he saw the man kneeling beside the pole travois. Why, he's not much more than a kid, he thought. And the girl, she can't be more than seventeen.
But when the man looked up, Owen saw the hard young face and dangerous eyes and knew that here was no mere boy. Quickly the man grabbed his shotgun and leveled the big bore at Owen's face.
“Stay where you are, mister!”
“I came to help,” Owen said.
“You a doctor?”
“No and from the looks of the girl I'd say she stands little chance of living till you get her to one.”
“That's my worry, and hers,” the young man said harshly.
Owen shrugged. “All right, if you want her to die. It seems a shame, though, after you've brought her so far.”
The young man scowled, his quick eyes shifting about the woods and hills. He seemed angry and worried, and when he glanced at the girl there was fear in his eyes. At last he lowered the shotgun, but kept it at the ready. “You think you could help her?” he asked.
“I can't say without knowing what's wrong with her.”