Sometime during the night she awoke. Coyotes were yelping, and from that sound she concluded it was near dawn. Her body ached; her mind seemed dull. Drowsily she was sinking into slumber again when she heard the rapid clip-clop of trotting horses. Startled, she raised her head to listen. The men were coming back. Relief and dread seemed to clear her stupor.
The trotting horses stopped across the lane from her cabin, evidently at the corral where she had left Spades. She heard him whistle.
From the sound of hoofs she judged the number of horses to be six or eight. Low voices of men mingled with thuds and cracking of straps and flopping of saddles on the ground. After that the heavy tread of boots sounded on the porch of the cabin opposite. A door creaked on its hinges. Next a slow footstep, accompanied by clinking of spurs, approached Ellen’s door, and a heavy hand banged upon it. She knew this person could not be her father.
“Hullo, Ellen!”
She recognized the voice as belonging to Colter. Somehow its tone, or something about it, sent a little shiver clown her spine. It acted like a revivifying current. Ellen lost her dragging lethargy.
“Hey, Ellen, are y’u there?” added Colter, louder voice.
“Yes. Of course I’m heah,” she replied. “What do y’u want?”
“Wal—I’m shore glad y’u’re home,” he replied. “Antonio’s gone with his squaw. An’ I was some worried aboot y’u.”
“Who’s with y’u, Colter?” queried Ellen, sitting up.
“Rock Wells an’ Springer. Tad Jorth was with us, but we had to leave him over heah in a cabin.”