"We'll take no chances, your Honor."
She turned away quietly, and Rawling shivered at this cool fury. The rattles made his spine itch, and suddenly his valley seemed like a place of demons. The lanterns circling on the lawn seemed like frail glow-worms, incredibly useless, and he leaned on the window-pane listening with fever to the rain.
"All right," said Bill when he had heard. "'Phone the sheriff. The man's dangerous, sir. I doctored a cut he had the other day, and he tells me he can see at night. That's a lie, of course, but he's light on his feet, and he's a devil. I've seen some rotten curs in the hospitals, but he's worse."
"Really, Billy, you sound as fierce as Onnie. She wanted a gun."
The handsome young man bit a lip, and his great body shook.
"This is San," he said, "and the men would kill any one who touched you, and they'd burn any one who touched San. Sorry if I'm rude."
"We mustn't lose our heads." Rawling talked against his fear. "The man's drunk. He'll never get near here, and he's got four miles to come in a cold rain. But—"
"May I sleep in San's room?"
"Then he'll know. I don't want him to, or Ling, either; they're imaginative kids. This is a vile mess, Billy."
"Hush! Then I'll sleep outside his door. I will, sir!"