“Come! Come!”
Like a flash she turned and dashed down the hallway to her room. Mark followed at her heels, and the rest of them, too, dragging the half-paralyzed and terrified Indian along, while the shouts and footsteps swelled louder and louder to urge them on.
They were just in time. Grace Fuller had scarcely time to push the last one in and then slam the door before three men, one of them her father, dashed around a turn of the hall and confronted her white figure standing at the door, the revolver still in her hand.
The huddled plebes inside were too alarmed to think. They heard the quick-witted girl call to the men:
“Here! Hurry up. This way!”
And then they heard the footsteps die away again, as the men with her at their head dashed down the hall toward the rear stairs of the building. They knew that for the time they were safe.
They stood panting and breathless, listening for a moment. They heard the noise at the rear increase; it was evident that everybody was hurrying in that direction. Mark sprang to the window and looked out. He saw three men running toward the foot of the ladder.
“There’s where they went up!” he heard one of them say.
And then came a shout from the rear and the three dashed around the building in that direction, leaving the lawn clear and the place deserted. Mark turned and cried to the others:
“Come! Quick! Now’s our chance!”