n of the willows, the
hooting of an owl. Furthermore, it was a great horned owl, and he seemed
to have a lot to say. You remember what I told you about setting your
mind so that only one sort of noise will arouse it, but that one
instantly? I knew perfectly well that Old Man Hooper's mind was set to
all these smaller harmless noises that most people never notice at all,
waking or sleeping--frogs, crickets, owls. And therefore I was convinced
that sooner or later that old man and his foolish ideas and his shotgun
would come projecting right across our well-planned getaway. Which was
just what happened, and almost at once. Probably that great horned owl
had been hooting for some time, but we had been too busy to notice. I
heard the wicket door turning on its hinges, and ventured a warning hiss
to Brower and Tim Westmore, who had not yet descended. An instant later
I could make out shadowy forms stealing toward the willows. Evidently
those who served Old Man Hooper were accustomed to broken rest.

We kept very quiet, straining our eyes at the willows. After an interval
a long stab of light pierced the dusk and the round detonation of
old-fashioned black powder shook the silence. There came to us the
babbling of voices released. At the same instant the newly risen moon
plastered us against that whitewashed wall like insects pinned in a
cork-lined case. The moonlight must have been visibly creeping down to
us for some few minutes, but so absorbed had I been in the doings of the
party in the willows, and so chuckleheaded were the two on the roof,
that actually none of us had noticed!

I dropped flat and dragged the girl down with me. But there remained
that ridiculous, plainly visible rope; and anyway a shout relieved me of
any doubt as to whether we had been seen. Brower came tumbling down on
us, and with one accord we three doubled to the right around the walls
of the ranch. A revolver shot sang by us, but we were not immediately
pursued. Our antagonists were too few and too uncertain of our numbers
and arms.

It was up to us to utilize the few minutes before the ranch should be
aroused. We doubled back through the willows and across the mesquite
flat toward the lone Joshua-tree where I had left my horse. I held the
girl's hand to help her when she stumbled, while Brower scuttled along
with surprising endurance for a dope wreck. Nobody said anything, but
saved their wind.

"Where's Tim?" I asked at a check when we had t