There was no sound audible to the others in
the living room; they did not even mark the manner in which she sat up, and
then rose to her feet. But when she whispered "Daddy Dan!" it brought each
of the three out of his chair. Still they heard nothing, and Buck and Lee
Haines would have retaken their chairs had not Kate gone to the window and
thrown it wide. Then they caught it, very far off, very thin and small, a
delicate thread of music, an eerie whistling. Without a word, she closed
the window, crossed the room and from the table she took up a cartridge
belt from which hung the holster with the revolver which Whistling Dan
taught her to use so well. She buckled it about her. Lee Haines and
Daniels, without a word, imitated her actions. Their guns were already on--
every moment since they reached the ranch they had gone armed but now they
looked to them, and tried the actions a few times before they thrust them
back into the holsters.
It was odd to watch them. They were like the last remnant of a garrison,
outworn with fighting, which prepares in grim quiet for the final stand.
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