"God knows I didn't mean to! I'm afraid--" He did not finish giving voice to the fear that Cassidy was dead--or dying, and for a moment he saw only the big staring eyes of the girl as the gray-bearded man helped him with his burden.

Not until the Irishman was on a cot in the cabin did he discover how childishly weak he had become and what a terrific struggle he had made with the weight on his shoulders.

He sank into a chair, while the old trapper worked over Cassidy.
He heard the girl call him grandfather.

She was no longer frightened, and she moved like a swift bird about the cabin, getting water and bandages and pillows, and the sight of fresh blood and of Cassidy's dead-white face brought a glow of tenderness into her eyes.

McKay, sitting dumbly, saw that her hands were doing twice the work his own could have accomplished, and not until he heard a low moan from the wounded man did he come to her side.
"The bullet went through clean as a whistle," the old man said.