"Mama says I can go next year when I enter High School," replied
Margery.
"First boy, white or Indian, that comes to call on you before you're eighteen, I'll turn the hose on," said Dave, winking at the men.
Amos and John laughed and Dave made his exit in high good humor.
When the door had closed Amos said, "Any real trouble with the boy,
John?"
"Shucks, no!" returned Levine. "Forget it!"
And forget it they did while the November dusk drew to a close and the red eyes of the stove blinked a warmer and warmer glow. About eight o'clock, after a light supper, Levine started back for town. He had not been gone five minutes when a shot cracked through the breathless night air.
Amos started for the door but Lizzie grasped his arm. "You stay right here, Amos, and take care of the house."
"What do you s'pose it was?" whispered Lydia. "I wish Mr. Levine was here. He's sheriff."
"That's what I'm afraid of—that something's happened, to him—between his being sheriff and his other interests. I'll get my lantern."
"Wait! I'll have to fill it for you," said Lydia.