The Winslow mail., 1923-09-28

| slightest service, nef terror OF her
stepson was the real cause of her
nervous breakdown.
No, there was absolutely no one to
rely upon but herself. And what
! could she do? The girl stood up In
the darkness, her hands gripped, her
eyes on the opening through the
chaparral leading toward the house
| the trail along which Bob Meager had
disappeared She must follow him:
| there was nowhere else for her to 60
She must face this thing alone, with
all the desperate courage she could
muster. If the worst came she must
act, swiftly, decisively-even to kill
ing the monster. There was no other
choice left, no other possibility of
j escape. But where could she procure
a weapon? She possessed none Of her
own; had never dreamed Of owning
such thing, yet they were plentiful
enough about the ranch. Surely one
could easily be secured.
Impelled by this thought Of self
defense, realizing clearly that she
could turn nowhere else with any hope
of escaping this defilement; that she
could neither flee the place nor find
! assistance, Deborah, the color high in
her cheeks, her lips firmly pressed in
determination, advanced resolutely
through the darkness toward the
house. She would defend herself at
all hazards; before she would submit
to that brute she would shoot to kill.
The men Of the home ranch were
evidently at supper, the big dining
hall being lighted, and as she slipped
past the unshaded windows, she had
glimpse of the fellows within and
heard their voices conversing loudly
in Spanish. They were a motley
bunch, scarcely face down the long
table that was not vicious and de-
praved-the scum of Mexico, the ma
jority exhibiting Indian blood. They
were a precious gang of ruffianS, in
deed, worthy Of their MASTER and the
girl crept away, glad to escape the
sound of their voices. There was a
single dim light burning in the bunk
house. but no sign of any occupant.
Undoubtedly every hand on the place
was at supper, and no better oppor-
tunity could be found in which to
seek for and appropriate some forgot
ten weapon. She advanced cautiously,
listening intently for any sound, eager
to accomplish her object. Once armed,
she would feel more confident; the
very touch of a weapon in her hand
would bring her renewed courage
| The bunkhouse was a long building
of adobe, the hunks lining the walls.
open at both ends, the only light a
lantern swung from a center beam.
The glass Of this s-was blackened with
smoke, and only dim radiance made
the interior barely visible. However
there were no occupants. Without
| hesitation, but with heart beating
wildly, she slipped silently within, her
eager eyes swiftly searching the va
cant hunks and the wooden pegs
above, on which dangled a miscella-
neous collection of garments. She ad-
vanced gingerly, satisfied that if any
occupant had left his belt behind it
would be found in one Of the hunks
She had gone entirely down one
side, and moved across to the other
before she found what she sought, her
heart Ieaping exuItantly as she per-
ceived the CLEAN of steel barrel in
the dim light. 1t lay fully exposed on
top of dirty blanket, wicked-look-
ing "A in a well-WOrn holster, with a
belt containing a half-dozen cartridges
She grasped these in her hands, con-
scious, even as she did so, of the
sound of voices outside. The men
were already returning; scarcely a
moment remained before some of them
would enter the upper door. The mo-
ment was sufficient to permit the
frightened girl to dash out Of the
lower entrance into the darkness be-
yOnd, and crouch there, the prize still
securely in her hands, waiting OppOr-
tunity to steal away toward the pro
lection of the ranchhouse None of
the fellows chose that entrance, but
surged in through the other without
care in the world.
The two who had entered first
stretched themselves out in hunks op-
posite each other, putting vigorously
on their cigarettes, and cOnversed in
English, evidently proud of the ac-
complishment. One she recognized as
Juan Sanchez, who had accompanied
Bob Meager on his return, and had
since been made foreman, a SWarthy,
evil-eyed half-breed, with a long mus
tache and a livid scar on one cheek.
The other was an Indian, a mere boy,
but with cruel mouth, and face hid
eous from pockmarks Sanchez called
him Pedro, yet talked to him as he
might to a dog. 1t was the boy who
questioned eagerly:
"Vat he say, senor-the man? l
hear eet not all, the fools they make
so mucha noise. We have fiesta?"
Sanchez blew cloud of smoke into
the polluted air, Tipping the ash of his
cigarette onto the floor