Then
she knew, in some strange way, that she had fetched a bowl, and a towel.
These she placed on the table. Still she looked at her husband, as though
he were a ghost--as, literally, he was. They had thought him dead--gone
forever. Now he was back among them, speaking, moving. Incredible! One hand
went to her face. She dreaded the thought of Morgan's seeing her.
It was Uncle Henry who broke the awful tension.
"You was shot!" he cried, to Pell.
The other looked at the old man in the chair. "Shot?" he said.
"Yes, and a rotten shot it was, too!" Uncle Henry was not afraid to say.
"Gol darn it all!"
The moment was too tragic for anyone to smile.
"Who shot me?" Pell asked. He was very weak. He put the towel in the bowl
of water, and pressed it to his forehead.
"A friend of mine!" cried Uncle Henry.
Gilbert glared at the old man. No one could be forgiven for a remark like
that.
"I remember, now," Pell murmured. "The bandit."
"And a gol darn nice fellow, too," Uncle Henry went on. "A little careless,
but--"
Pell looked startled. The towel fell from his hand and he looked about him.
"He's not here still!" he cried, as one just coming out of a stupor to a
full realization of his surroundings.
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