"We're in range. It's
pretty dangerous. As I said, accidents don't happen down in this country."
"But I want to see!" cried Angela, dancing with excitement now.
"Red" was distracted. "Please come in, Angela," he begged. More shots were
heard. He was frightened for everyone. He had lived too long down here not
to know the meaning of such desperate shooting. "What the h----" Two
bullets came through the window, and smashed a little mirror that hung on
the wall near the staircase. The bits of glass fell to the floor with a
loud crash.
"What's the matter?" came the terrified voice of Uncle Henry. His hands
clung to the wheels of his chair. But he did not budge it.
"Red" had not been able to dodge a shot. "Right through the hat!" he cried,
and waved his Stetson. Sure enough, a bullet had gone clean through his
headgear. Had he lifted his face a few inches higher, he would have been
shot himself.
More hoof beats. Yet Lucia never moved.
"Bullet?" asked Hardy.
"Yes," "Red" replied. "And it was spang new--this hat. Cost eighteen
dollars!" He was still looking at the tattered Stetson.
"Oh, it might have hit you!" Angela cried and embraced him.
"Told you we'd better keep inside!" "Red" said.
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