"I'll keep it down," she whispered, watching his face out of fear-distended eyes.
The wind blew one of the rotten blankets inward. Thereby she knew that the window-aperture on the south wall contained no sash. He must have removed it to provide means of escape in case he were attacked from the east door. He must have climbed out that window when she came around the shack; that is how he had felled her from behind.
He stepped backward now until he felt the edge of the bench touch his calves. Then he sank down, one arm stretched along the table's rim, the hand clutching the revolver.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"I'm Cora McB——" She stopped—she recalled in a flash the part her husband had played in his former capture and trial. "I'm Cora Allen," she corrected. Then she waited, her wits in chaos. She was fighting desperately to bring order out of that chaos.
"What you doin' up here?"
"I started for Millington, over the mountain. I lost my way."
"Why didn't you go by the road?"
"It's further."
"That's a lie! It ain't. And don't lie to me, or I'll kill you!"