But he knew before Hurley answered weakly what was wrong. His hands had gone out, touched Hurley's body and one of them had come away wet and … sticky. … It was a flying bullet from the fight at the Goblet gone wildly astray … No; it couldn't be that; Ed should have been at Indian City long before the firing began.
"I've got two holes in me, Billy," said Hurley faintly as, with his friend's arm about him, he half sat up. "I rather guess I'm done for. … I'm thirsty, Bill …"
A lump was in Steele's throat, a burning, searing rage in his heart. They had shot poor old Ed Hurley down like a dog, and why? Just because he was a friend of Bill Steele, just because …
"He thought I was you," whispered Hurley. "Your hat, you know. … Your horse; couldn't find mine. Broke away I guess. … Get me a drink, will you, Bill?"
Steele ran down to the river, stumbling through the darkness, filled his hat and ran back, cursing Joe Embry at every step he took. When Hurley had drunk eagerly and sank back, Steele put his two arms about him.
"It's not all over with you, Eddie," he said softly. "I won't let it be. And, what's more, she won't let it be!"
"She?" demanded Hurley, wondering.
"That's why I wouldn't let you in on the fight to-night," Steele told him swiftly. "I was sending you
