And they all covered their streaming eyes from the fumes of the ammonia, which, confined by the closed tent, played havoc with them. Choking and gasping Mrs. Bonnell jumped up to open one of the tent flaps to let in air.
“Did—did you hit—him?” gasped Mabel.
“I—I didn’t see any one,” confessed the Guardian. “Natalie did, though.”
“I—I didn’t really see him,” murmured breath-of-the-pine-tree. “I—I heard him. Oh, please some one hand me my cold cream. I can’t see—those fumes from the ammonia are in my eyes.”
“Didn’t you see him?” demanded Marie, as she tossed a tube of the cream over on Natalie’s cot.
“No-o-o-o. There was a scratching sound, and I woke up, and—and——”
“I shot!” declared Mrs. Bonnell.
“You needn’t tell us that!” laughed Marie. “We all know it.”
“I couldn’t find the pistol at first,” went on the Guardian, “for I had it in mind to put it under my pillow, and then I was afraid it might leak, so I laid it on my ‘bureau,’” and she smilingly indicated the upturned soap box. “But I found it,” she went on.
“I’m sure whoever it was won’t come back,” spoke Alice. “Suppose we take a look.”