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。