But there were no shots fired.

Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but without stirrups she was thrown about so much that Duane rode closer and reached out to grasp her arm.
Thus they rode through the valley to the trail that led up over, the steep and broken Rim Rock.

As they began to climb Duane looked back.

No pursuers were in sight.
"Jennie, we're going to get away!" he cried, exultation for her in his voice.
She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in turning to look back he faced her.
"Oh, Duane, your shirt's all bloody!" she faltered, pointing with trembling fingers.
With her words Duane became aware of two things--the hand he instinctively placed to his breast still held his gun, and he had sustained a terrible wound.
Duane had been shot through the breast far enough down to give him grave apprehension of his life.

The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled freely both at its entrance and where it had come out, but with no signs of hemorrhage.