She hurled the axe at them. It fell far short. They fired as they passed, but none hit her. Nearer came the men.
The wounded man leaped to his horse and with a curse rode on. The woman laughed as he passed beneath, then sat down in the dusky loft with a red pool at her feet.
Shortly the men returned. Some went by down the hill, after the Indians. Others put out the fire. All was confusion, bustle, shouts.
Then the women and the children came and added to the din, and the men who had followed returned. But the woman in black sat alone in the loft, till she heard the crowd at her door below, and the voice of the pale woman say:
"Where is Mary?"
She rose and lifted the trap-door—it was unbolted—and went down.
The pale woman came to her, but she pushed her aside, and wiped her face with her sleeve.
"Are they killed? any of them?" she said. Her friend answered, "No, Mary, not one." "No harm this time," said the bearded man. "Except my house, it is burned," said the minister's wife. "We'll soon have another."
"I don't mean you!" cried the woman in black. "I mean them—red devils. Have you got any?—killed any? You"—this to Jim, who never missed a shot—"you"—this to the bearded man—"have you killed any?"
And the men answered, "No."