Kitty was scarcely conscious of what she had said.  The cowboy’s first words had struck her with the force of a physical blow, and in that first moment, she had been weak and helpless.  She had felt as though a heavy weight pressed her down; a gray mist was before her eyes, and she could not see clearly.  “Phil Acton is shot—­Phil Acton is shot!” The cowboy’s words had repeated themselves over and over.  Then, with a sudden rush, her strength came again—­the mist cleared; she must go to Phil; she must go fast, fast.  Oh, why was this horse so slow!  If only she were riding her own Midnight!  She did not think as she rode.  She did not wonder, nor question, nor analyze her emotions.  She only felt.  It was Phil who was hurt—­Phil, the boy with whom she had played when she was a little girl—­the lad with whom she had gone to school—­the young man who had won the first love of her young woman heart.  It was Phil, her Phil, who was hurt, and she must go to him—­she must go fast, fast!

It seemed to Kitty that hours passed before she reached the meadow lane.  She was glad that Curly had left the gates open.  As she crossed the familiar ground between the old Acton home and the ranch house on the other side of the sandy wash, she saw them.  They were carrying him into the house as she rode into the yard, and at sight of that still form the gray mist came again, and she caught the saddle horn to save herself from falling.  But it was only a moment until she was strong again, and ready to do all that Mrs. Baldwin asked.

Phil had regained consciousness before they started home with him, but he was very weak from the loss of blood and the journey in the buckboard, though Bob drove ever so carefully, was almost more than he could bear.  But with the relief that came when he was at last lying quietly in his own bed, and with the help of the stimulant, the splendid physical strength and vitality that was his because of his natural and unspoiled life again brought him back from the shadows into the light of full consciousness.

It was then that the Dean, while Mrs. Baldwin and Kitty were occupied for a few moments in another part of the house, listened to all that his foreman could tell him about the affair up to the time that he had fallen unconscious.  The Dean asked but few questions.  But when the details were all clearly fixed in his mind, the older man bent over Phil and looked straight into the lad’s clear and steady eyes, while he asked in a low tone, “Phil, did Patches do this?”

And the young man answered, “Uncle Will, I don’t know.”

With this he closed his eyes wearily, as though to sleep, and the Dean, seeing Kitty in the doorway, beckoned her to come and sit beside the bed.  Then he stole quietly from the room.

As in a dream Phil had seen Kitty when she rode into the yard.  And he had been conscious of her presence as she moved about the house and the room where he lay.  But he had given no sign that he knew she was there.  As she seated herself, at the Dean’s bidding, the cowboy opened his eyes for a moment, and looked up into her face.  Then again the weary lids closed, and he gave no hint that he recognized her, save that the white lips set in firmer lines as though at another stab of pain.