Thecinchesofthehorsesweretightened，LinandtheVirginianlaidahandontheirsaddle-horns，swungup，andsoonallsoundofthegallopinghorseshadceased。MollyWooddeclinedtobenervousandcrossedtoherlittleneighborcabin；weallparted，andasalwaysinthatblessedcountrydeepsleepquicklycametome。

　　Idon’tknowhowlongafteritwasthatIsprangfrommyblanketsinhalf-doubtingfright。ButIhaddreamednothing。Asecondlong，wildyellnowgavemeImustowntoitahorriblechill。Ihadnopistol——

　　nothing。Inthehatefulbrightnessofthemoonmysinglethoughtwas“House!House!“andIfledacrossthelaneinmyunderclothestothecabin，whenroundthecornerwhirledthetwocow-punchers，andI

　　understood。IsawtheVirginiancatchsightofmeinmyshirt，andsawhisteethashesmiled。Ihastenedtomyblankets，andreturnedmoredecenttostandandwatchthetwogoshootingandyellingroundthecabin，crazywiththeiryouth。Thedoorwasopened，andTaylorcourageouslyemerged，bearingaWinchester。Hefiredattheskyimmediately。

　　“B’gosh!“heroared。“That’sone。“Hefiredagain。“Outandat’em。

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