“Yes, Ramerrez...!”
“What? Say that again?”
“Ramerrez is on the trail—”
“Ramerrez’s on the trail!” repeated the Girl in tones of alarm; and not waiting to hear further she motioned to Johnson to conceal himself behind the curtains of the bed, muttering the while:
“I got to let ’em in—I can’t keep ’em out there on such a night....” He had barely reached his place of concealment when the Girl slid back the bolts and bade the boys to come in.
Headed by Rance, the men quickly filed in and deposited their lanterns on the floor. It was evident that they had found the storm most severe, for their boots were soaked through and their heavy buffalo overcoats, caps and ear-muffs were covered with snow, which all, save Rance, proceeded to remove by shaking their shoulders and stamping their feet. The latter, however, calmly took off his gloves, pulled out a beautifully-creased handkerchief from his pocket, and began slowly to flick off the snow from his elegant mink overcoat before hanging it carefully upon a peg on the wall. After that he went over to the table and warmed his hands over the lighted candle there. Meanwhile, Sonora, his nose, as well as his hands which with difficulty he removed from his heavy fur mittens, showing red and swollen from the effects of the biting cold, had gone over to the fire, where he ejaculated:
“Ouf, I’m cold! Glad you’re safe, Girl!”
“Yes, Girl, The Polka’s had a narrow squeak,” observed Nick, stamping his feet which, as well as his legs, were wrapped with pieces of blankets for added warmth.
Unconsciously, at his words, the Girl’s eyes travelled to the bed; then, drawing her robe snugly about her, and seating herself, she asked with suppressed excitement:
“Why, Nick, what’s the matter? What’s—”