He rolled back to her and drew her back under the window. A bullet had come through just below the sill, and had scored her temple just enough to break the skin and raise a blue welt. She was dazed, bewildered. She tried to get to her feet, but Jack pulled her down.
“You’re all right, June,” he told her. “It’s not serious. Stay down, girl!”
He held to her with one hand. There was smoke drifting in through the broken window—too much smoke to be caused by the shooting. Jack sniffed at it.
Wood smoke! They had fired the ranchhouse!
He could hear the flames crackling now, and the smoke was getting heavier. June was recovering, but it seemed that the injury had broken her nerve. She began crying softly and Jack patted her on the arm.
“It’s all right, June,” he told her. “Don’t cry. You’ve got to hang on to yore nerve, girl. They’ve set the house on fire. It’s do or die, I guess. We can’t stay here and burn to death.”
The wall was getting hot. There was a little breeze, and the seasoned old building was as dry as tinder. June blinked at him through her tears. She understood what he was saying.
“We’ll crawl to the kitchen door,” he told her. “I’ll open the door and jump out. Mebbe I can drive ’em back so you can get away. It’s our only chance. They might let yuh go and figure on catchin’ yuh. I’ll stop ’em as long as I can, June.”
They slid along the wall to the kitchen.
The shooting had stopped. Jack knew they were merely waiting for them to try to make a break. Beside the door they stopped and Jack held out his hand to her.