The Boy was at her heels. She knew and rejoiced in the love that made him brave for her sake.
She paused a moment, listened, and then lifted her tall, slim form and advanced steadily. Her bare feet made no noise. The waning moon was shining with soft radiance. The Boy's heart was in his throat as he watched her slender neck and head outlined against the sky. Never had he seen anything so calm and utterly brave.
There was a slight noise at the stable. The chickens cackled with louder call. Five minutes passed and they were silent. A shadowy figure appeared at the corner of the stable. She raised the rifle and flashed a dagger-like flame into the darkness.
A smothered cry, the shadow leaped the fence and the beat of swift feet could be heard in the distance.
The Boy clung close to her side and his voice was husky as he spoke:
"Ain't you afraid, Ma?"
The calm answer rang forever through his memory:
"I don't know what fear means, my Boy. It's not the first time I've caught these prowling scoundrels."
Next morning he saw the dark blood marks on the trail over which the thief had fled, and looked into his mother's wistful grey eyes with a new reverence and awe.