“It’s the wind rising. I believe we are going to have a sand storm. Let’s creep low that we may keep hidden among the mesquite bushes. The house may be watched.”
This they did until they were sheltered by a rise of grounds, then Virg said: “Take my hand now and we’ll race for the bunk house.”
Margaret felt her hand being firmly grasped and then she was fairly dragged along the trail toward the smaller adobe where the cow-boys had their quarters.
“Oh, Virg,” the eastern girl said with sudden terror, “Don’t go so fast. We might step on a rattlesnake.”
“No danger of that,” the other responded. “This is February and the snakes are still asleep in their winter homes.”
When they reached the bunkhouse Virginia darted to the side farthest from the dry creek and there she paused for breath.
A moment later she called at an open window, “Tom! Tom! Come out please, quickly.”
Puzzled by this summons at so late an hour, the lad hastily dressed and opened the door.
“Miss Virginia! Miss Margaret! What does this mean?” he exclaimed as he joined the girls. “Why are you out at this hour and on a night so cold and blustery? Were you frightened? Has anything happened at the house?”
“No, Tom. That is—yes! Well, I will have to begin at the beginning,” Virginia replied. Then she rapidly told of the coming of old Uncle Tex and of the posse that was camped in the dry creek bottom a mile below the ranch house.