“My Hippy has gone, too,” cried Nora Wingate. “They’ll be killed, both of them! I wish I never had come to this terrible place.”
“Did you stew like that when your husband was fighting Boches in France?” rebuked Elfreda.
“No, but he isn’t fighting Boches now.”
“There they go at it again!” cried Anne. “This is almost as exciting as France. All one needs to make her believe she is back on the battle front is the explosion of a Hun shell.”
Down on the Apache Trail the battle was being waged with honors a little in favor of the Overlanders. Hippy had hit at least one of the prowlers. That he knew, but, so far, he and Grace had escaped without a bullet coming close enough to endanger them. One man was still working his revolver somewhere ahead of Hippy and Grace.
“Let them have it before they get away,” she urged, whereupon Hippy began shooting into the fog with renewed vigor.
“There they go!” cried Grace. “I heard them sliding down the bank. Come on! We may yet catch them.”
Hippy turned his revolver in the direction that Grace was pointing, and blazed away.
“Overland!” shouted a voice behind them in the new rallying cry of the outfit.
“Here!” answered Hippy. “You are too late, Ike. The fun is all over.”