The girl flew to fetch a bucket of water from the pool. Blake was peering anxiously down into Ashton's white face. "Didn't--know--but--that--" he panted. "No," reassured his wife. "He will soon be all right." She drew the unconscious man flat on his back and held a bottle of ammonia to his nostrils. The powerful stimulant revived him just as the girl came running back with the water. He opened his eyes, and the first object they rested upon was her anxious pitiful face. He smiled and whispered gallantly: "Don't be afraid. I'm all right--now!" "Then I'll drink first," said Blake. He took a deep draught from the pail, doused a hatful of water over his hot head and face, and stretched out to cool off. Genevieve, assisted by the deeply concerned girl, took the handkerchief bandage from Ashton's head and washed the wound with an antiseptic solution. She then clipped away the hair from the edges and drew the scalp together with a number of stitches. In this last the hardy cowgirl was unable to help. She clasped Ashton's hand convulsively and sat shuddering. Ashton smiled up into her tender pitying eyes. Genevieve had numbed his wound with cocaine. He was quite satisfied with the situation. Another antiseptic washing and a compress of sterilized cotton bound on with surgical bandages completed the operation. Then, when it was all over with, the young mother, who had gone through everything with the aplomb and deftness of a surgeon, quietly sank back in a faint. On the instant Blake was reaching for the ammonia bottle. A whiff restored his wife to consciousness. She opened her eyes, and smiling at her weakness, sought to rise. He held her down with gentle force and ordered her to lie quiet. "I shall fetch Tommy," he added. "We'll all take a _siesta_ until noon." CHAPTER XIX THE PLOTTERS When Blake came back with the baby, Isobel begged him for a full account of how Ashton had been wounded. In relating the affair he sought to minimize the danger that he had incurred, and he omitted all mention of the bullet shot at him the previous evening. But his account was frequently interrupted by exclamations from his wife and Isobel. At the end he dwelt strongly on the cowardly haste of the assassin's flight; only to be met by a shrewdly anxious rejoinder from the girl: "He ran away after he attacked Lafe the other time. He will come back again!" "Oh, Tom!" cried Genevieve--"if he does!" "We will get him, that is all there is to it," replied her husband. "What do you say to that, Ashton?" "We will not have the chance," said Ashton. "I don't believe he has nerve enough to try it the third time. But if he should--" "No, no! I hope he keeps running forever!" fervently wished Isobel. "Don't you realize how close a miss that was, Lafe?--and the other time, too?" "I like having one Miss close," he punned. The girl blushed, but failed to show any sign of resentment.