"Please, precious o' mine!" Gently he urged her to the blankets on the floor, where she lay under the protection of the heavy foundation logs.
For once Flame obeyed. From somewhere in the mystic maze of memory came comforting thought. Someone, perhaps a poet, had written and she had read that a woman is greatly loved to whom a man speaks with tenderness at a time of desperate peril. Their peril was, to say the least, desperate. And her Jack had spoken with more tenderness than she ever expected to hear him express. She thrilled with love for him, as he picked up the Winchester, which he had stood beside the door on his return from the trip south. When he had made certain that the magazine held its limit of cartridges, he sent some random shots from several of the loopholes.
Calm as was Childress externally, he felt within the sick fear of a child, because he knew himself to be but inadequate protection for the girl who shared the grave peril with him. But this feeling he was able to banish by activity with the rifle; and when that grew heated, with his revolver.
"Got one of 'em that time!" he chuckled after some minutes of random firing. "Guess that'll tell the bunch not to rush this shack; at least not until after dark, and then we won't be here for the reception."
He did not tell her that "one of 'em" had got him through the shoulder, a wound that was painful but not crippling.
"But how can we both get away?" she asked, handing him a rifle she had been reloading. "I left my horse down at the main dive."
"I have another wonder horse in the lean-to back of the cabin," he said. "The beast won't consider you extra weight, little Flame. As soon as it's dark, we'll bust out and give them a run for their money, my life and something more than life for you."
There came a lull in the firing and he slipped out through the back door to saddle the magnificent piece of horseflesh which he had acquired somewhere to the south. The girl followed him, noticed the difficulty he had swinging the heavy cow saddle into place, and then saw the crimson stain upon his shirt between collar-bone and shoulder.
"They hit you," she whispered. "Let me see—how bad."
He waved her back.