"This is San," he said, "and the men would kill any one who touched you, and they'd burn any one who touched San. Sorry if I'm rude." "We mustn't lose our heads." Rawling talked against his fear. "The man's drunk. He'll never get near here, and he's got four miles to come in a cold rain. But--" "May I sleep in San's room?" "Then he'll know. I don't want him to, or Ling, either; they're imaginative kids. This is a vile mess, Billy." "Hush! Then I'll sleep outside his door. I _will_, sir!" "All right, old man. Thanks. Ling can sleep in Pete's room. Now I'll 'phone Mackintosh." But the sheriff did not answer, and his deputy was ill. Rawling shrugged, but when Varian telephoned that there were thirty men searching, he felt more comfortable. "You're using the wires a lot, Dad," said Sanford, roaming in. "Anything wrong? Where's Ling to sleep?" "In Pete's room. Good-night, Godson. No, nothing wrong." But Sanford was back presently, his eyes wide. "I say, Onnie's asleep front of my door and I can't get over her. What's got into the girl?" "She's worried. Her snake's bells are going, and she thinks the house'll burn down. Let her be. Sleep with me, and keep my feet warm, Sonny." "Sure," yawned Sanford. "'Night, Billy." "Well," said Bill, "that settles that, sir. She'd hear anything, or I will, and you're a light sleeper. Suppose we lock up as much as we can and play some checkers?" They locked the doors, and toward midnight Cameron rapped at the library window, his rubber coat glistening. "Not a print of the wastrel loon, sir; but the lads will bide out the night. They've whusky an' biscuits an' keep moving." "I'll come out myself," Rawling began, but the smith grunted. "Ye're no stirrin' oot yer hoos, Robert Rawling! Ye're daft! Gin you met this ganglin' assassinator, wha'd be for maister? San's no to lack a father. Gae to yer bit bed!" "Gosh!" said Bill, shutting the window, "_he's_ in earnest. He forgot to try to talk English even. I feel better. The hog's fallen into a hole and gone to sleep. Let's go up." "I suppose if I tell Onnie San's with me, she'll just change to my door," Rawling considered; "but I'll try. Poor girl, she's faithful as a dog!" They mounted softly and beheld her, huddled in a blanket, mountainous, curled outside Sanford's closed door, just opposite the head of the stairs. Rawling stooped over the heap and spoke to the tangle of blue-shadowed hair. "Onnie Killelia, go to bed." "Leave me be, your Honor. I'm--" Sleep cut the protest. The rattles sounded feebly, and Rawling stood up. "Just like a dog," whispered Bill, stealing off to a guest-room. "I'll leave my door open." He patted the revolver in his jacket and grinned affectionately. "Good-night, Boss."