Little Marion Sherwood had heard the dogs and the wheels and immediately slipped out of bed. Perhaps it was Ben, she had thought. That would be fine, for she missed Ben. Or it was Uncle Jim and the doctor from Woodstock to make the sick man well. She had gone to the top of the back stairs and stood there for a long time, listening, wondering at what she heard. She had been puzzled at first, then frightened, then angered. She had fled along the upper halls to the head of the front stairs and down the stairs. She had felt her way into the library and to a certain bookcase and from beneath the bookcase she had drawn the shallow, mahogany box which contained the little pistols with which gentlemen had proved themselves gentlemen in ancient days.
She had opened the box and worked with frantic haste—with more haste than speed. She had worked by the sense of touch alone and fumbled things and spilled things. Bullets had rolled on the floor, powder had spilled everywhere, wads and caps and the little ramrod had escaped from her fingers again and again; but she had retained enough powder, enough wads, two bullets and two caps. She had returned up the front stairs and along the narrow halls.
Now that Noel was tied down, Lunt stood his gun against the wall and gave all his attention to Mrs. O’Dell.
“I don’t want to hurt ye,” he said. “An’ I ain’t goin’ to hurt ye. But I gotter go upstairs, me an’ Tim Hood, an’ fetch down the prisoner ye’ve got hid up there. I’m sorry Tim mussed ye up, ma’am, but ye hadn’t ought to obstruct the law. Will ye kindly step aside, Mrs. O’Dell?”
“I won’t! If you force your way past me and carry that man off to-night you’ll be murderers, for he’ll die on the road. If you try, I’ll fight you from here every step of the way.”
“We’re in our rights, ma’am. I’m a constable an’ here’s the warrant. It ain’t my fault he’s sick—even if that’s true. You grab her left arm, Tim, an’ I’ll take her right, an’ we’ll move her aside an’ nip upstairs. But no rough stuff, Tim!”
A voice spoke in a whisper behind Mrs. O’Dell, from the darkness of the narrow staircase.
“Put your right hand back and take this pistol.”
The woman recognized the voice but failed to grasp the meaning of the words. The little girl was frightened, naturally. That thought increased her unswerving hot rage against the men in front of her. She did not move or say a word in reply.