Lucky I was right on hand,
though." And he grew technical, spoke of blood pressures taken, of
traumatism superinducing prolonged coma, of this and that which made no
impression on the banker.
"You mentioned two wounds," Engle reminded him. "The one made by the
bullet and another. . . ."
"By his head striking as he fell? Yes; that would have completed the
work of the first shock in knocking him unconscious. But it is a
negligible affair now; he wouldn't know anything about it in the
morning if it weren't for the lump that'll be there. And since the
other injury, the long gouging cut made by the bullet, has just plowed
along the outer surface of the skull, I think that I can promise you
he'll be all right pretty soon now. We ought to have some ice, but
I've made cold compresses do."
Engle went again to look in upon Norton. The sheriff lay as before, on
his back, his limbs lax, his face deathly white, a bandage about his
head. A lump came into the banker's throat and he turned away. For he
remembered that just so had Billy Norton lain, that Billy Norton had
never regained consciousness . . . and that the blow then as now had
been struck by Galloway or Galloway's man. The sudden fear was upon
him that Rod Norton was even more badly hurt than Caleb Patten
admitted.
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