"
She paused, glancing swiftly about, listening to the increasing hubbub
without.
"There is no other way they can break in except through this door,
unless, perhaps, they smash that shutter. Two of us ought to hold them
for some time."
"But we have only one weapon--that knife is no use."
"There is a sawed-off shotgun back yonder; go get it, and hunt for some
cartridges. They may be in the cupboard--quick now; that's Mendez's
voice, and he'll be savage."
There was a shouting of commands without in Spanish, punctuated by
oaths, the meaning of which the girl alone understood. She leaned
forward, her eyes on the door, the cocked revolver held ready. She had
meant what she said to Cavendish; to her mind death was far preferable
to any surrender to that infuriated Mexican; she expected death, but
one hope yet buoyed her up--Westcott. Odd that any memory of him
should have come to her at that moment--yet it did; as though he spoke,
and bade her believe in his coming. She had thought of him before,
often in the past two days, but now he was real, tangible; she could
almost feel the strong grip of his hand, and hear the sound of his
voice.
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