For the hawk she had no pity, nor a thought beyond the one investigative glance she gave its body to make sure that she had hit it where she meant to hit it.

Lite had taught her to shoot like that,--straight and quick.

Lite was a man who trimmed life down to the essentials, and he had long ago impressed it upon her that if she could not shoot quickly, and hit where she aimed, there was not much use in her attempting to shoot at all.

Jean proved by her scant interest in the hawk how well she had learned the lesson, and how sure she was of hitting where she aimed.
The little brown bird had been gashed in the breast by a sharp talon.
Jean was much concerned over the wound, even though it did not reach any vital organ.

She was afraid of septic poisoning, she told the bird; but added comfortingly: "There--you needn't worry one minute over that.