“A heroine,” suggested the lieutenant.
“Oh, in these days we don’t make such fine sex distinctions,” laughed Grace. “A real hero, that’s what I call her.”
“Rubbish,” protested Merle. “I just did what anyone else would have done in the circumstances.”
“I’m afraid men are not so ready of wit in an emergency as are women,” remarked Munson.
“Just listen to that, Merle,” exclaimed Grace. “I verily believe the lieutenant is a suffragette.”
“A suffragist,” corrected Munson, emphatically this time. “I’m hanged if I’m going to wear a petticoat even if the women are determined to don—the other things.”
They all laughed merrily.
Grace turned and began examining the carefully written library cards.
“Any more news from Mr. Willoughby?” asked Merle, with a look of solicitude in her eyes.
“Nothing,” replied Munson. “But I’m beginning to put two and two together,” he continued. “Early every morning a horseman comes down here from the mountains and evidently brings a report of some kind to Mr. Robles. And when he rides off again Sing Ling has always ready a basket of grub, all sorts of nice things, fried chicken, spiced beef—”