"Oh, Lordy, Anderson! Your—your revolver? You're not going to shoot it off, are you?"
"I certainly am—if the derned thing's loaded. Where's it at?"
She sank back with a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens, I just remembered that Milt Cupples borrowed it last winter to—"
"Borrowed my revolver?" roared Anderson. "Why—"
"To loan to a friend of his'n who was going down to New York on business."
"An' he never brought it back?"
"He never did."
Anderson's opinion of Milt Cupples was smothered in a violent chorus of automobile horns. Mrs. Crow promptly covered her head with the bed-clothes and let out a muffled shriek.
"It's only the posse," he shouted, pulling the covers from her face. "Don't be scairt, Evy. Where's your courage? Remember who you are. Rememb—"
"I'm only a poor, weak woman—"