Then she knew.
She sat on the edge of the bed. This was what she had waited for! Was it her turn now?—or theirs again?
She could kill one.
Where was her gun?
She had loaned it to the men.
But her axe—that was below.
As she started for it, there was a burst of war cries.
She ran down the narrow stairs, and took the axe from its place on the wall.
They were passing her door. The room grew lighter. She turned. One stood in the open doorway, black against the sunshine. She set her teeth hard, hid the axe behind her skirts, watched him motionless.
He stretched out his hand clawlike, and laughed, his eyes gleaming, as catlike he moved nearer, A terror seized her: with a hoarse cry, she sprang up the stairs, flinging down a chair as he followed panting.