He rested his rifle across a window sill, took an interminable time to
sight, and squeezed the trigger. One of the sixteen jerked awkwardly, as
though he had stepped on something that slipped beneath his foot, and
sat awkwardly down. The rest ran back into the shelter of the woods, and
after a moment the wounded man rose to follow. There was a savage
satisfaction in Winterson's voice.
"Winged me one anyhow! Wish I'd killed him!"
"How high did you hold on him?" Joe asked.
"About a foot over his head. Still probably caught him too low down.
Wish I'd given it another foot!"
There came five quick shots from behind the cabin. Ellis took two slow
forward steps, turned to smile at the others, and managed only a fatuous
grin. Blood bubbled down the side of his head, giving his hair a
seal-sleek look and reddening his cheek. Joe caught him as he slumped
backward while Winterson plucked the rifle from his hand. Barbara gasped
and knelt beside her lover.
Her face was pale and terrible fear and shock glittered in her eyes.
But there was hot anger in them too as she took Ellis's head tenderly on
her lap while his blood reddened her skirt. Emma came with a cold
compress and Barbara took it from her hand. Her voice was dull and
trembling, but at the same time she showed her inner strength.
"Let me do it, Mother."
She applied the compress to Ellis's head while she bent tenderly over
him. Barbara, who had always hidden when anything she liked was hurt,
rose to the occasion when one she loved was injured. Joe said awkwardly,
"Let's move him to a bed."