CHAPTER SEVENTEENNo More Disguise
Eli came crashing through the woods on the right. He stopped in his stride at the edge of the trail, and like a wild creature at gaze took in the scene before him.
“You did stick around, then. Good for you.” Gamadge had his handkerchief out, and was searching Craye’s pocket for another. Eli, his clasp knife already in his hand, turned his black eyes from the automatic in Gamadge’s left hand to the one that lay among folds of purple calico. “Did he git you?”
“No.” Gamadge lifted Craye, while Eli cut pale fawn-colored shirting from the wounded shoulder. Eli said: “You got him, all right. Bullet went right through. Pad him up before he bleeds to death.”
They padded up both wounds with the handkerchiefs, strips of Craye’s shirt, and a staying outer bandage
