chest he took homemade bandages and, after cleansing the wounds, he began to dress them carefully.
He talked with every movement.
"So this here is the lion, is it?" nodded granddad. "This here is the ravenin', tearin', screechin' man-eater? Why, he looks mostly plain kid to me."
"He—he's been shot, ain't he, granddad?" asked the child in a whisper.
"Well, boy, I'd say that the lion had been chawed up considerable—by dogs."
He pointed. "See them holes? The big one in front? That means they sneaked up behind him and shot him while his back was turned."
He sighed.
"I've heard fine things and brave things about Hal Dozier, but mostly I begin to misdoubt 'em all! These ain't the days for a man-sized man to go cavortin' around. When he goes out to take a little exercise, they get a hundred of 'em together and put him in a cage and say he's broke the law. Oh, Jud, these ain't no days for a man to be livin' in."
"He's wakin' up, granddad," said Jud, more frightened than before.
The eyes of Andrew were indeed opening.
He smiled up at them. "Uncle Jas," he said, "I don't like to fight. It makes me sick inside, to fight." He closed his eyes again.
"Now, now, now!" murmured Pop. "This boy has a way with him. And he killed Bill Dozier, did he? Son, gimme the whisky."
He poured a little down the throat of the wounded man, and Andrew frowned and opened his eyes again. He was conscious at last.
