With an exclamation of surprise Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side.
Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat.

The whole front of his shirt was soaked with blood.
"You're shot!" cried Duane.
"Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't?
Would you mind givin' me a lift--on this here pack ?" Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount.
The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
"Oh, why didn't you say so!" cried Duane.

"I never thought.

You seemed all right." "Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he doesn't say anythin'.

It wouldn't have done no good." Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from his breast and back.