But in spite of that and driven by righteous anger, he would
again have tackled the enemy had not the voice of Grace Hooper checked
him:
"Oh, let him go; let him go!" she begged. "He'll shoot, and you--you
must not be killed! No; you shall not!"
And then, as the rascal turned and fled over the brow of the hill, Gus
turned to the girl, sitting on the ground.
"How did you come here--what--?"
"I knew something was going to happen, and I thought I might prevent it
some way. Then he fired, and I saw how desperate he was,--and he shot--"
"Yes--we must do all we can for poor George, if anything can be done.
But are you hurt?"
"Not very much; he meant to hurt me. I dodged when he struck and only my
shoulder may be--bruised."
"Then you should bathe it in hot water. Can I help you up? No, you must
not go home alone--but I must see about poor George. I heard him groan."
"I'd better go down with you."
"It might be--too horrible--for a girl, you see. Better stay here."
Gus had extended his hand to give her a lift; she took it and came
slowly to her feet; then suddenly crumpled up and lay unconscious before
him, her face white against the dark sod, her arms outflung. Gus stared
at her a few long seconds, as foolishly helpless as any boy could be. He
told Bill afterward that he never felt so flabbergasted in his life.
What to do he knew not, but he must try something, and do it quickly.
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