“Nothing—but—a——” Miss Mackin stopped.
She was not sure just what it was, for an immense animal head was framed in the curtains it had poked itself between.
There was a continued volley of subdued shrieks from everyone until Cleo took aim with her shoe. She proved a first rate shot, for the animal blinked once and promptly withdrew.
“A cow! I heard him chew!” declared the little fat Madaline.
“But he has no horns,” argued Julia, trembling still, and trying to talk with a head covered in the blankets.
“It is a cow,” declared Miss Mackin. She was on her feet now, and had the tent flaps open. She had taken down the pole light from the front door, and now swung the lantern through the curtains in the rear. “See, there she goes! Poor Bossy just wanted to pay us a call. I didn’t know we had any cows around here.”
“All right there?” called a man’s voice, next.
“The officer!” declared Cleo not without a little squeak of joy. “That’s Dick Porter’s voice.”
“Yes, that’s the watchman,” agreed Miss Mackin, who had slipped on her heavy robe.
“All right, officer!” she called back. “But please drive the cow away.”