“What are we going to do?”
“Do? What can we do but knock them up and ask for shelter?”
“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “Neither of us can go on until we’ve had rest and a drying out.”
“That’s how I look at it.”
“We’ve got to go easy, though. Remember what I trotted into with Betty at Stoker’s house?”
“Where do you get this ‘we’ stuff?” he said rather gruffly. “Here, take this gun and get behind a tree. I’m going over there. If they get nasty when they open up, I’ll sidestep—and you can use your own judgment.”
“I’ll use it right now, Bill. I’m going to the house with you. Don’t argue—” She started on along the path.
Bill caught up with her. “Take the automatic, anyway,” he shoved the gun into her hand. “Shoot through your pocket if you have to. Better keep it out of sight. Stand to one side just out of the line of light when they open. All set?”
“Go ahead.”
Dorothy’s right hand gripped the revolver in her pocket. She slipped off the safety catch, pointed her forefinger along the snubnosed barrel and let her middle finger rest lightly on the trigger.