They were making straight
for the open door, but at the sight of the girl standing there they
checked momentarily and the shouting died down.
She faced the foremost of them without a tremor. "What is it?" she
demanded, in a clear, ringing voice. "What are you wanting?"
A man with the shaggy face of a baboon answered her. "You've got that
blasted policeman in there. You stick up that gun of yours and let us
pass! We've got guns of our own, so that won't help."
She confronted him with scorn. "Do you imagine I'm afraid of you and your
guns? There's no one here except another woman. Are you out to fight
women to-night?"
"That's a lie!" he made prompt response. "You've got Fletcher Hill in
there, or I'm a nigger. You let us pass!"
But still she blocked the way, her revolver pointing straight at him.
"Fletcher Hill is not here. And you won't come in unless Mr. Warden says
so. He is not here either at present. But he is coming. And I will shoot
any man who tries to force his way in first."
"Damnation!" growled the shaggy-faced one and wheeled upon his comrades.
"What do you say to that, boys? Going to let a woman run this show?"
A chorus of curses answered him, but still no one raised a revolver
against the slender figure that opposed them. Only, after a moment, a cur
in the background picked up a stone and flung it. It struck the doorpost,
narrowly missing her shoulder.
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