“I don’t know; wish I had my glasses! Looks to me like fellows riding—do you see ’em? Over there, coming through that darkish spot between the foothills? Wonder if we’re in for another row?”
“No—yes, it is! Coming this way!”
“Go in and tell them to put out the lights and stop that noise quick!” Scott’s voice was hard and sharp. Polly darted into the house. Scott strained his eyes to watch the party of riders racking recklessly down the dark roadway from the hills. “It can’t be Pachuca!” he muttered. “He wouldn’t come back. It must be that damned young Angel. Well, I guess we’re in for trouble before daybreak.”
“What is it?” Hard was at his elbow. Scott turned and saw that the house was dark.
“It’s a bunch on horseback—see, over yonder? They’re making good time; they’ll be on us in half a minute. Where’s Herrick?”
“Getting the rifles. Where are the horses?”
“In the pasture, up by the river. They’ll not find them in a hurry.”
“Hadn’t we better have the women go up there, too?” said Hard, anxiously.
“I don’t believe so. If they’re bound for us, there’s no time. I think——”
“Mr. Scott,” Clara Conrad’s voice came softly from the dark doorway, “if that’s Angel Gonzales why can’t we all go——”