A cry, which Grace recognized as having been uttered by Emma Dean, was heard in the coach.
“Flat down on the floor, every one of you, and not another sound!” commanded Grace in a low voice, dropping on all fours to the trail, and in that position crawling under the coach on hands and feet.
Before ducking under, a quick upward glance had shown Grace that Lieutenant Wingate’s hands were thrust above his head, and that Ike Fairweather was holding his as high as possible.
“All out, and keep your hands above your heads!” commanded a stern voice on the mountain side of the coach. “Quick!”
Grace Harlowe unlimbered her little automatic revolver from its holster under her blouse, the weapon that she had carried through the war.
Four frightened girls, crouching on the floor of the Deadwood coach, had not uttered a sound since the command to step out was uttered, nor had they made a movement to obey that command.
“Come out of that on the jump!” ordered the same stern voice that Grace had first heard, but this time in a new and more menacing tone.
A pair of booted legs appeared before Grace at the side of the coach, and she heard the coach door jerked open, followed by a scream from Emma.
Without an instant’s hesitation, Grace thrust her revolver forward until its muzzle was close to one of the booted legs, and pulled the trigger.