The Girl felt a thrill at the note of regard in his voice and hastened to explain:
“I never use it cold nights; I always roll up in my rug in front of the fire.” All of a sudden she broke out into a merry little laugh. “Jest think of it stormin’ all this time an’ we didn’t know it!”
But Johnson was not in a laughing mood. Indeed, he looked very grave and serious when presently he said:
“But people coming up here and finding me might—”
The Girl looked up at him in blank amazement.
“Might what?” And then, while she waited for his answer, two shots in close succession rang out in the night with great distinctness.
There was no mistaking the nearness of the sound. Instantly scenting trouble and alert at the possibility of danger, Johnson inquired:
“What’s that? What’s that?”
“Wait! Wait!” came back from the Girl, unconsciously in the same tone, while she strained her ears for other sounds. She did not have long to wait, however, before other shots followed, the last ones coming from further away, so it seemed, and at greater intervals.
“They’ve got a road agent—it’s the posse—p’r’aps they’ve got Ramerrez or one o’ his band!” suddenly declared the Girl, at the same time rushing over to the window for some verification of her words. But, as before, the wind was beating with great force against the frosted panes, and only a vast stretch of snow met her gaze. Turning away from the window she now came towards him with: “You see, whoever it is, they’re snowed in—they can’t get away.”