“Never mind. I did it, and I must take the consequences. I don’t suppose I’ll be hanged for it, but oh, I would almost as soon be. I want to know as soon as I can if he is really killed.” Therefore the little company, headed by Pedro, went down the road to where they distinguished a dark horse quietly cropping the grass, his master lying motionless on the ground near him. Pedro knelt down and put his hand on the man’s breast. “No is daid,” he said. “I am so thankful, I am so thankful,” whispered Alison. “Can we get him to the house, do you think?” said Christine. He was not a large man and by their united efforts they were able to bear him to a room below stairs. By the dim light and because of the blood stains upon his face it was not easy to determine his age nor to distinguish his features. At sight of the thin stream which slowly trickled from his forehead Alison shuddered. “I think you’d better see what has become of Hero, Pedro,” said Christine. “We don’t want him to get away after all this effort to save him. I think we can manage very well to attend to this man. I do not believe he is wounded so very badly. He is stunned, but I don’t think the bullet did more than graze his forehead.” Pedro promised to see that the horse was safe and to return immediately. The three girls then gave their whole attention to the man, whom Louisa insisted upon tying hand and foot. “He might be playing ’possum,” she said, “and while Pedro is gone he might try to get away. It’s best to be on the safe side. I’m glad he ain’t a redskin,” she added as she wiped the stains from his face and clothing and bound up his head. “I suppose a horse thief is bad enough, but somehow I don’t mind ’em as much as Injuns. He’s coming ’round, Miss Tina.” The man opened his eyes and uttered an ugly word. “Who are ye and what are ye doing with me?” he asked looking from one to another. “We are the people you were stealing horses from when you got shot for it,” said Louisa with a sturdy bluntness. The man’s brows contracted, whether from pain or anger Louisa could not determine. “Where’s the fool that shot me?” the man asked. “Where are you, Alison?” said Louisa with a broad smile. Alison came forward with a questioning look. “Do you want me?” “Yes, he wants to look at you.” “That? That little squeak of a gal? You’re giving me something I can’t swaller,” said the man. “All the same she’s the one. I know I didn’t do it, for there ain’t a pistol wound on ye. The rifle shot struck you and sorter stunned ye more than it killed ye, and ye just natchelly dropped. We’ve got your horse and our best one, and when you’re able you can get it back, if the boys’ll let ye.” “There, Louisa, there,” remonstrated Christine. “Wait till he is better.” “Oh, fire away. I don’t like soft solder, and I rather like her sass. As long as I’m not kilt I kin light out and make tracks for home, I reckon.”