ed.

CHAPTER XXXII

BUCK RIDES

Presently Mrs. Archer released her spasmodic grip on Stratton's flannel
shirt and fumbled for her handkerchief.

"I'm a fool to--to waste time like this," she faltered, dabbing her eyes
with the crumpled square of cambric.

"I think you're rather wonderful," returned Buck gently. He helped her to
a chair. "Sit down here, and when you're able, tell us just
what--happened."

Her hands dropped suddenly to her lap and she looked up at him with wide,
blazing eyes. Bud had approached and stood on the other side of the chair,
listening intently.

"It was that creature Lynch," she said in a voice that trembled a little
with anger and indignation. "He was the one who rode up on horseback. It
was Pedro who was hidden in the loft. Mary told you about that before the
telephone went dead."

"The wire was cut," muttered Stratton. "That must have been the greaser's
work."

She gave a quick nod. "Very likely. He's equal to anything. They met just
outside the door and talked together. It seemed as if they'd never leave
off whispering. Mary was over by the telephone and I stood here. She had
that revolver, which she'd found in the other room." Her eyes indicated
the weapon on the table, and Buck was conscious of a queer thrill as he
recognized it as his own. "We waited. At last the--the beast pounded at
the door and called to us to open. We didn't stir. Then he threw himself
against the door, which cracked. Mary cried out that if he tried to force
it, she'd shoot. The creature only laughed, and when she did fire, the
bullet went wild."

She paused an instant, her fingers twitching at the handkerchief clasped
in her lap.

"And then he broke in?" questioned Buck, in a hard voice.

She nodded. "Yes. I fired once, but it did no good. Before I could shoot
again, Pedro came up from behind and snatched the revolver away. He must
have forced his way into the kitchen. He threw me into a chair, while
Lynch went after Mary."

Buck's lips were pressed tightly together; his face was hard as stone.
"Didn't she fire again?"

"No, I don't know why. I couldn't see very well. Something may have gone
wrong with the revolver; perhaps she had scruples. I should have had
none." Mrs. Archer's small, delicate face looked almost savage. "I'd have
gloried in shooting the brute. At any rate, she didn't, and he took the
weapon away from her and flung it on the table."

Again she hesitated briefly, overcom