Lucia looked up. She was ashen. She was older, and her eyes seemed to have lost their fire. "He's--really--alive?" she got out. She stared down at her husband. "They should of shot 'im in the stomach!" Uncle Henry stated. What a mess! What rotten luck, ran through his weary brain. Pell's foot moved again. Then his arm went up; and slowly he rose on one elbow, pushed away the tablecloth that touched his head, and looked about him. He was like a man awaking from a sound slumber. He was dazed, mystified. In the almost complete darkness, he could not distinguish faces. "What was it? What happened?" he inquired, in a hollow voice--a voice from the tomb! No one answered. They were all terror-stricken. "I can't remember," the hollow voice went on. He fell back on the floor. He was weak from the loss of blood. "Red" lifted him up, and helped him around the table to a chair. Lucia's eyes never left Morgan Pell's face. Was she dreaming? Was this some madness that had come to her? This brute come back to life! It was unbearable, unbelievable. She could not adjust her mind to the situation. But with true feminine instinct, she found herself leaving her chair where she had sat so long, going to the kitchen and getting a cup of water. Then she knew, in some strange way, that she had fetched a bowl, and a towel. These she placed on the table. Still she looked at her husband, as though he were a ghost--as, literally, he was. They had thought him dead--gone forever. Now he was back among them, speaking, moving. Incredible! One hand went to her face. She dreaded the thought of Morgan's seeing her. It was Uncle Henry who broke the awful tension. "You was shot!" he cried, to Pell. The other looked at the old man in the chair. "Shot?" he said. "Yes, and a rotten shot it was, too!" Uncle Henry was not afraid to say. "Gol darn it all!" The moment was too tragic for anyone to smile. "Who shot me?" Pell asked. He was very weak. He put the towel in the bowl of water, and pressed it to his forehead. "A friend of mine!" cried Uncle Henry. Gilbert glared at the old man. No one could be forgiven for a remark like that. "I remember, now," Pell murmured. "The bandit." "And a gol darn nice fellow, too," Uncle Henry went on. "A little careless, but--" Pell looked startled. The towel fell from his hand and he looked about him. "He's not here still!" he cried, as one just coming out of a stupor to a full realization of his surroundings. "No, worse luck!" Uncle Henry said. "He's gone?" Pell said. "The rangers came," Hardy explained. "Texas?" from Pell. "Yes, gol darn 'em!" Uncle Henry let out. Lucia, who had been watching Pell's face every second, now offered him the bowl of water with her own hands, and drew closer to him. She picked up the towel that had fallen to the table, and folded it, then dampened it. Pell looked up and saw her for the first time. "Oh, so there you are, my dear!" was his cynical greeting.