The day passed. Night set in. About ten, Mary said, convincingly--
"Coon Dogs coming! Coon Dogs coming!"
"No, no," said Ajax.
I slipped out of the house. From the marsh beyond the creek came the familiar croaking of the frogs; from the foothills in the cow-pasture came the shrilling of the crickets. A coyote was yapping far down the valley.
"It's all right, Mary," said I.
"Boss, Coon Dogs come, velly quick. I know."
Did he really know? What subtle instinct warned him of the approach of danger? Who can answer such questions? It is a fact that the Coon Dogs were on the road to our ranch, and that they arrived just one hour later. We heard them yelling and shouting at the big gate. Then the popping of pistols told us that the sign, clearly to be seen in the moonlight, was being riddled with bullets.
"We must face the music," said Ajax grimly. "Come on!"
Mary lay back on the pillow, senseless. Passing through the sitting- room, I reminded Ajax that my duck-gun, an eight-bore, could carry two ounces of buck-shot about one hundred yards.
"We mustn't fight 'em with their own weapons," he answered curtly.