like building in the rear, which Simpson knew to be the bunk-house of the ranch's old cattle days. He caught the motive of her move in a breath: she was going after a gun. Stooping, running swiftly, he was off after her, the parting shots of the robbers from the gate rattling the planks above his head.
Simpson heard them laugh as they rode away, feeling so safe they did not consider it worth while to turn back and stop this dash for arms as they must have known it to be. The girl was through the back gate and into the bunk-house before he could overtake her. She met him at the door with a rifle in her hands. He snatched it and started in a desperate, hopeless run, burning for a shot at them, one shot, before they disappeared over the hill beyond the corral.
"Cut through the orchard!" Eudora yelled.
"Through the orchard—through the orchard!" Mrs. Ellison shrieked, her voice breaking high in the vengeful passion that had mastered her cold self-control at last.
