After she was able to draw out one hand she stood for some time in silence, considering what she could do. Apparently, she could do nothing, because of the men near by. She did not dare to speak of what she had done to Pool, lest she should be overheard. After that, as she had waited, hoping for something that would create a diversion of which she could take advantage, the slow-moving time had seemed interminable. But Pizen Jane was possessed of monumental patience. She had waited, minute by minute and hour by hour, hoping that something would turn in her favor. At intervals she had strained at the cords which still held one wrist, and at last freed it. Her feet were still tied at the ankles, and her body was still bound to the barricade. She grew desperate when she saw the gray dawn breaking, and knew that day was near, when inevitably what she had done would be discovered. She began to strain at the cords on her ankles; and at length, in her desperation, she stooped over, determined to untie them with her hands. The sentinel out in front saw her do this. “Hello!” he said. “What ye doin’?” She stood erect by the barricade, her hands behind her back once more, her lips firmly compressed, and did not answer him. Long before, Pool Clayton had become little better than a shaking jelly bag, through excess of fright. He hardly knew what the man said, and he had not discovered what his courageous mother was doing. The man walked up to the barricade, and, stooping over, looked Pizen Jane in the face. “Hello!” he repeated. “What you doin’?” Then her hands flew out, and, catching the knife from his belt, she drove it into his shoulder, inflicting a wound that tumbled him back, gasping and half paralyzed. Before the outlaws on the other side of the barricade knew just what had occurred, Pizen Jane had cut the cords that held her, had stricken loose those that bound Pool Clayton, and was climbing over the barricade, the knife and the sentry’s revolver in her hands. “Git out o’ my way!” she snarled, striking at one of the men who sought to oppose her progress. He fell back out of the way of the knife. Then she sprang down, and in another instant she was running toward the huts. One of the outlaws pitched up a rifle and was on the point of shooting her. “Don’t do it!” a companion warned, and he knocked the muzzle of the gun aside. “The boss would raise Old Ned wi’ ye, if ye should.” Though they feared to shoot, a couple of them followed her; but when they reached the huts, though they had followed close at her heels, they could not find her. One of them poked his head into the hut where Snaky Pete was lying, supposedly asleep. “Hello!” he called, in a low voice. “That woman has got away, and is in the camp here some’eres.” Snaky Pete came to his feet, and rushed to the door. “Where is she?” he cried, his wounded lip cutting him like a knife as he said it. “Here!” was the startling answer.