“I’ll show you. I think we can hide and maybe can scare them off.” Louisa was not one to stand at anything, so she slipped out of bed, got into her clothes and the two went stealthily down the stairs. Alison reached for the long rifle. Louisa possessed herself of two pistols. Alison led the way, creeping along in the shadows, her dark-blue gown rendering her inconspicuous enough to prevent her being observed by any one on the watch. The night was mild and quiet. Overhead the stars shone brightly. A hundred odors arose from the masses of prairie flowers. The night breeze in the trees, the distant plash of the river, the bark of a coyote, the screech of an owl, once in a while the wild note of a mocking-bird, these were all the sounds distinguishable, as the two girls stole to the clump of trees at the edge of the chaparral. “They’ll have to pass down the road,” whispered Alison as they came to a halt under the trees. “If they have Hero I shall surely fire. Do you suppose it is Indians?” “Laws, I hope not,” whispered Louisa. “Can you climb this tree? Out to that furthest limb?” asked Alison. “I should hope so,” returned Louisa. Alison crept along the extended limb and suddenly dropped from it to the ground. Louisa, in good faith, imitated her movement, though it would seem to the uninitiated as if only a tangle of thorn and brier were below to receive them. However, Alison knew her way well, and presently they were hidden in the depth of the thicket, kneeling on the ground and peeping through the screen of leaf and bramble.