See Grandma letting Doc Morris take over. The Sheriff looks half frightened, half happy. Clint's been crying. I know, because after he's been crying the vein sticks out on his forehead.
I'm ok, Clint, I say, but he can't hear.
Because I'm not, am I?
I live in a near broke wagon, nothing on it works; well, some bits do, like my hands if I try real hard.
I can squeeze Grandma's hand - tell Clint I'm going to be okay, Grandma - but she don't understand. I'll do it myself then.
I know that heat, that smell.
I've tasted it before.