"Not this chicken," a voice muttered, and a white form whipped his horse over to Wambush's. "I'm with you," said another. Then there was a clamor of voices, and all the gang gathered round Wambush. He chuckled and swore softly. "That's the stuff!" he said. "Them's Cohutta men a-talkin'; you kin bet yore sweet life."
Harriet turned to Westerfelt. "They are drinking," she said. "Haven't you got a pistol?"
"No."
"You stay here then; don't let them see you; I'm going up-stairs and speak to Toot from the veranda. It's the only chance. Sh!"
She did not wait for a reply, but opened the door noiselessly and went out into the hall. He heard the rustle of her skirts as she went up the stairs. A moment later the door leading to the veranda on the floor above opened with a creak, and she appeared over the heads of the band.
"Toot! Toot Wambush!" she called out in a clear, steady voice. "I want to speak to you!"
Wambush, in a spirit of bravado, had just ridden on to the veranda, and could hear nothing above the thunderous clatter of his horse's hoofs on the floor.
"Here, thar, you jail-bird, yore wanted!" cried out the leader. "Stop that infernal racket!"
"What is it?" asked Wambush, riding back among his fellows.
"Toot Wambush!" Harriet repeated.