"Well, the horrid part of it, I do," she hedged.
"That's all right," returned the young man. "I'm willing to fight for the rest of it. Don't try to pull your hand away, because I intend to hold it till the folks come. You can't help yourself, so you have no responsibility in the matter."
So for an hour longer they sat, watching the summer night and waiting. And sometimes it seemed to Lydia that they were a pioneer man and woman sitting in their prairie schooner watching for the Indians. And sometimes it seemed to her that they were the last white man and woman, that civilization had died and the hordes were coming down upon them.
Finally two dim figures approached. "All right, Lydia?" asked Amos.
"Oh, yes! Yes!" she cried. "Are either of you hurt?"
"No," replied Levine, "but we stayed till I'd got my half-breeds distributed about to watch that none of the full bloods got out of the meadow."
"Was any one hurt?" asked Billy.
"Oh, two or three broken heads among both Indians and whites. We got hold of Charlie Jackson about eleven and locked him up, then we felt secure."
"You aren't going to hurt Charlie!" cried Lydia.
"No, but we'll shut him up for a week or so," said Amos. "Move over,
Lizzie."