deadened footfall, close to the door. Then, after an eternity, the
latch clicked softly. Some one, with infinite care, was trying to
discover whether the door was locked.

His next move she anticipated. Her eyes fastened on the window, while
she waited breathlessly. Her heart was stammering furiously. Moments
passed, in which she had to set her teeth to keep from screaming
aloud. The revolver was shaking so that she had to steady the barrel
with her left hand. A shadow crossed one pane, the shadow of a head in
profile, and pushed itself forward till shoulders, arm, and poised
revolver covered the lower sash. Very, very slowly the head itself
crept into sight.

Arlie fired and screamed simultaneously. The thud of a fall, the
scuffle of a man gathering himself to his feet again, the rush of
retreating steps, all merged themselves in one single impression of
fierce, exultant triumph.

Her only regret was that she had not killed him. She was not even sure
that she had hit him, for her bullet had gone through the glass within
an inch of the inner woodwork. Nevertheless, she knew that he had had
a shock that would carry him far. Unless he had accomplices with him--
and of that there had been no evidence at the time of the attack from
Bald Knob-- he would not venture another attempt. Of one thing she was
sure. The face that had looked in at the window was one she had never
seen before, In this, too, she found relief-- for she knew now that
the face she had expected to see follow the shadow over the pane had
been that of Jed Briscoe; and Jed had too much of the courage of
Lucifer incarnate in him to give up because an unexpected revolver had
been fired in his face.