Logan let out the breath he had been holding. But the unspoken fear and panic spread, as if it were contagious, when he and the others spotted Andrew with the nasty cut.
The cowboy had untied the neckerchief from his neck already. But he held it loosely on his hand, as though he didn’t know what to do with it. He kept his eyes on the blood that oozed out from his arm.
Mark suddenly remembered the pocketknife that he carried. He pulled out one of the sharp blades and gently cut away the cloth around the wound. His heart was thumping wildly. He hoped the arrows weren’t poisonous.
Andrew’s face turned as white as chalk, but he kept still.