“I cannot bear to have him think I would whine for mercy like that,” she murmured.
“Yes, but think of the pleasure of fooling him later,” Conacher pointed out.
To send their letter they chose a moment after sunset, while there was still light enough to aim it. Throwing open the door, they all stood back on the chance of receiving a bullet from across the way: but their enemies gave no sign. It fell to Loseis’ part to dispatch the letter, since she was accustomed to handling the bow and arrow. The letter had been fastened around the shaft with a thread. After waiting a moment or two, Loseis took up her stand far enough back from the door so that she could not possibly be seen. Drawing the bow-string to her ear, she let it twang. The arrow sped across the open space, and stuck fast in the wall of the men’s house, a few inches from the door. Conacher slammed their door shut.
Next morning as soon as it became light, they perceived that the arrow still remained fixed in the wall. Their hearts sunk, thinking that their ruse had failed. But as the light strengthened Loseis’ sharp eyes discovered that the white band around the shaft was gone.
“They have it!” she cried.
All day long they anxiously watched for any sign of activity on the part of their enemies. If any reply had been made to their letter it might have seriously embarrassed them, but none was made. As the endless, endless day finally rounded towards its close, Conacher said grimly:
“It must be to-night.”
Loseis nodded.
They did not take Mary-Lou into their confidence until the latest possible moment. They supped; and the dishes were washed. Finally when Conacher began to lay out the bundles they were to carry, she had to be told. The mind of the overwrought girl was distracted by the thought of more danger.
“Let me stay here,” she moaned. “Let me stay here and die!”