The lad at the head of the troop comprehended the house and its
environments in two glances. He did not check the long, swinging stride
of his horse. The troopers glanced for a moment like casual tourists,
and then returned to their study of the region in front. The heavy
thudding of the hoofs became a small noise. The dust, hanging in sheets,
slowly sank.

The sobs of the woman on the bed took form in words which, while strong
in their note of calamity, yet expressed a querulous mental reaching for
some near thing to blame. "And it'll be lucky fer us if we ain't both
butchered in our sleep--plundering and running off horses--old Santo's
gone--you see if he ain't--plundering--"

"But, ma," said the girl, perplexed and terrified in the same moment,
"they've gone."

"Oh, but they'll come back!" cried the mother, without pausing her
wail. "They'll come back--trust them for that--running off horses. O
John, John! why did you, why did you?" She suddenly lifted herself and
sat rigid, staring at her daughter. "Mary," she said in tragic whisper,
"the kitchen door isn't locked!" Already she was bended forward to
listen, her mouth agape, her eyes fixed upon her daughter.

"Mother," faltered the girl.

Her mother again whispered, "The kitchen door isn't locked."

Motionless and mute they stared into each other's eyes.

At last the girl quavered, "We better--we better go and lock it." The