Stealthily the boy got into his clothes, then took his pistol and his rifle, and joined his sister, who also carried rifle.
“Better leave that here. You’ll have an attack of nerves and fire it and wake everybody.”
Margie, however, refused to relinquish the weapon, and together they stole from the house.
The silence of the night, together with that indescribable effect bright moonlight produces upon trees and land, enhancing shadows and making startling forms and figures out of every bush and rock, awed the brother and sister.
Unconsciously they drew closer together, holding their rifles at the “ready,” the while they peered intently toward the head gate.
“Do you see that thing, there to the left of the gate? It’s moving,” gasped Margie, her teeth chattering so she could scarcely enunciate.
Though his heart seemed in his mouth, Ted stopped, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and sighted along the barrel. But even as he did so, he beheld a spurt of flame, then heard a report—and a bullet “pinged” over their heads.
Instantly Ted fired his rifle, then whispered hoarsely: “Drop to the ground. Crawl back to the house and get the boys. I’ll crawl to the head gate.”
The two reports, rending the stillness, waked Andy and Chester. With a bound they were out of bed, dressed hurriedly, seized weapons, and ran out.
“Some one at the dam,” called Ted. “Come on.”