It was not merely a demonstration of inimical feeling but a definite summons. The man of that blood who heard it needed no particulars. He had his orders. Straightway he must arm and rally.
From her father's room came a deeply anguished groan and the muttering of a prayer. He, too, had been awakened and realized that the "war" had broken out afresh.
It was useless to try to sleep now. Blossom rose and threw fresh fagots on the fire. She dressed and sat with her fingers twisting and her lips trembling.
Once she stifled a scream at the rush of hoof-beats and the scatter of gravel along the road, but the commotion went by in hot haste and silence closed down again.
Eventually an abrupt shout sounded imperatively from just beyond the door—a voice which Blossom did not recognize, and as she came to her feet she heard her father's stern challenge, "Who's out thar?"
"Hit's Joe Sanders—an' I'm in haste!"
Despite the urgency of word and tone the preacher hesitated to demand:
"What business brings ye hyar in ther dead of night-time?"
"I've got Bear Cat Stacy an' Mr. Henderson. They're both sore wounded. Fer God's sake, hasten!"
With a swiftness of motion that outstripped her father's, Blossom flung herself forward and with feverish fingers was sliding the bar from its sockets.