look of impatience, of a spirit curbed—that set a man's fancy moving.
Simpson stole a look out of the window to see if the girl was at her bones, and started, coming to his feet with that springy movement of the legs that had been Eddie Kane's undoing the night before. The girl was standing with one hand on the horse's withers, half straightened from her grooming, looking with every indication of alarm at four men who had ridden into the enclosure and were swinging from their travel-splashed mounts.
"My lands!" said Mrs. Ellison, getting quickly to her feet, peering anxiously through the uncurtained window, "somebody's come. I wonder what in the world them men are after, comin' in here that way."
Before Simpson could answer three of the men came running toward the kitchen door, stiff-legged and heavy from their saddles, guns out, with grim and hostile demonstration.
"They're after you!" Mrs. Ellison said. "What have you done?"
"You're as wise as I am, madam," Simpson replied.
Which was true as far as it went. There was no time to explain that these were the four rascals who had mistreated the innocent joker in Kane's place last night, for the long man with the big mustache was at the porch, his feet on the step. Simpson started for the door, but Mrs. Ellison interposed, being nearer, stretching her arm to bar him. The fourth man was coming along after his companions, leading the horse Frank, the girl protesting vehemently.
