“Shall we ride?” said Jacky, inclining her head in the direction of the shed.

“No, we will walk.  How long have they been there?”

“A quarter of an hour, I guess.”

“Come along, then.”

They walked down the pasture leading their two horses.

“I see no light,” said Bill, looking straight ahead of him.

“It is covered—­the window, I mean.  What are you going to do, Bill?”

The man laughed.

“Lots—­but I shall be guided by circumstances.  You must remain outside, Jacky; you can see to the horses.”

“P’r’aps.”

The man turned sharply.

“P’r’aps?”

“Yes, one never knows.  I guess it’s no use fixing things when—­guided by circumstances.”

They relapsed into silence and walked steadily on.  Half the distance was covered when Jacky halted.

“Will Golden Eagle stand ‘knee-haltering,’ Bill?”

“Yes, why?”

“We’ll ‘knee-halter’ ’em.”

Bill stood irresolute.

“It’ll be better, I guess,” the girl pursued.  “We’ll be freer.”

“All right,” replied Bill.  “But,” after a pause, “I’d rather you didn’t come further, little woman—­there may be shooting—­”

“That’s so.  I like shootin’.  What’s that?”

The girl had secured her horse, Bill was in the act of securing his.  Jacky raised her hand in an attitude of attention and turned her face to windward.  Bill stood erect and listened.

“Ah!—­it’s the boys.  Baptiste said they would come.”

There was a faint rustling of grass near by.  Jacky’s keen ears had detected the stealing sound at once.  To others it might have passed for the effect of the night breeze.

They listened for a few seconds longer, then Bill turned to the girl.

“Come—­the horses are safe.  The boys will not show themselves.  I fancy they are here to watch only—­me.”

They continued on towards the shed.  They were both wrapt in silent thought.  Neither was prepared for what was to come.  They were still nearly a quarter of a mile from the building.  Its outline was dimly discernible in the darkness.  And, too, now the light from the oil lamp could be seen dimly shining through the red bandanna which was stretched over the window.

Now the sound of “Poker” John’s voice raised in anger reached them.  They stood still with one accord.  It was astonishing how the voice traveled all that distance.  He must be shouting.  A sudden fear gripped their hearts.  Bill was the first to move.  With a whispered “Wait here,” he ran forward.  For an instant Jacky waited, then, on a sudden impulse, she followed her lover.

The girl had just started.  Suddenly the sharp report of firearms split the air.  She came up with Bill, who had paused at the sound.

“Hustle, Bill.  It’s murder,” the girl panted.

“Yes,” and he ran forward with set face and gleaming eyes.