in his right boot, and let it down again.

"It's full," he said, with a sickly smile. "I reckon I _have_ lost
some blood. Why--why, I didn't feel it."

Martin Worthy, the storekeeper, ran across from the jail ahead of the
others. Hearing Westerfelt's remark, he cried:

"My Lord! you must go inside an' lie down; fix a place, Miss Harriet,
an' send fer a doctor, quick!"

Harriet ran into the house, and Mrs. Floyd and Worthy supported
Westerfelt between them into a room adjoining the parlor. They made
him lie on a bed, and Worthy opened his waistcoat and shirt.

"Good gracious, it's runnin' like a wet-weather spring," he said.
"Have you sent fer a doctor?" he asked as Harriet came in.

"Yes; Dr. Lash, but he may not be at his office."

"Send for Dr. Wells," he ordered a man at the door. "That's right," he
added to Harriet, who had knelt by the bed and was holding the lips of
the wound together, "keep the cut closed as well as you kin! I'll go
tell 'im to use my hoss."

As he went out there was a clatter of feet on the veranda. The people
were returning from the jail. Westerfelt opened his eyes and looked
towards the door.

"They'll crowd in here," said Harriet to her mother. "Shut the door;
don't let anybody in except Mr. Bradley."

Mrs. Floyd closed the door in the face of the crowd, asking them to go
outside, but they remained in the hall, silent and awed, waiting for
news of the wounded man. Mrs. Floyd admitted Luke Bradley.

"My heavens, John, I had no idea he got such a clean sweep at you!" he
said, as he approached the bed. "Ef I'd a-knowed this I'd 'a' killed
the dirty scamp!"

"I'm all right," replied Westerfelt; "just a little loss of blood."
But his voice was faint and his eyelids drooped despite his effort to
keep them open. Worthy rapped at the door and was admitted.

"Doc Lash has rid out to Widow Treadwell's," he announced. "He's been
sent fer, an' ort ter git heer before long. It'll take a hour to git
Wells, even ef he's at home."

Harriet Floyd glanced at her mother when she heard this. Her knees
ached and her fingers felt stiff and numb, but she dared not stir.

Once Westerfelt opened his eyes and looked down at her.

"Do I hurt you?" she asked, softly.

"Not a bit." He smiled, and his eyes lingered on her face till their
lids dropped over them.

Chapter VII

Dr. Lash came a little earlier than he was expected. The wound was not
really a fatal one, he said, b