He heard a
throbbing note in her throat. And then she was down on her knees
at his side, leaning close over him, her hands groping at his
shoulders, her quick breath betraying how swiftly her heart was
beating.
"You are not hurt--badly?" she cried.
"I don't know," replied David. "You made a perfect shot. I think a
part of my head is gone. At least you've shot away my balance,
because I can't stand on my feet!"
Her hand touched his face, remaining there for an instant, and the
palm of it pressed his forehead. It was like the touch of cool
velvet, he thought. Then she called to the man named Bateese. He
made Carrigan think of a huge chimpanzee as he came near, because
of the shortness of his body and the length of his arms. In the
half light he might have been a huge animal, a hulking creature of
some sort walking upright. Carrigan's fingers closed more tightly
on the butt of his automatic. The woman began to talk swiftly in a
patois of French and Cree. David caught the gist of it. She was
telling Bateese to carry him to the canoe, and to be very careful,
because m'sieu was badly hurt. It was his head, she emphasized.
Bateese must be careful of his head.
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