"Cover it up. If there's more than one, we'll have trouble."
She produced a mattock from a corner of the cabin and began, through the broken wall, to rake down mud and earth and cover the coins. For an hour and more she worked, the Corporal still keeping watch. Once or twice he growled at her to make less noise.
He did not stand the suspense well, but after the first hour grew visibly uneasy.
"I've a mind to give this over," he grumbled, and fell to unstrapping his knapsack. "Here!"—he tossed it to her—"pack it, full as you can. Half a loaf may turn out better than no bread."
She laid the knapsack open on the floor and set to work, cramming it with dollars.
"Talking of bread," he went on by-and-by, "that's going to be a question. My stomach's feeling at this moment like as if it had two rows of teeth inside."
"Hist!" Mercedes rose, finger to lip. He turned again to the window-hole and peered out, gun in hand, his shoulder blocking the recess.
A man's footsteps were coming up the path—coming cautiously. Their crunch upon the snow was just audible, and no more. Mercedes stole towards the window and crept close behind the Corporal's back; stood there, holding her breath.
The man on the path halted for a moment, and came on again, still cautiously.... There was a jet of flame, a roar; and the Corporal, after the kick of his musket, strained himself forward on the window-ledge to see if his shot had told.
"Settled him!" he announced, drawing back and turning to face her with a triumphant grin.