Then this girl's voice began in stricken tones half coherent, and amid
violent sobbing: "It was grandpa's. He--he--he said he was going to
shoot anybody who came in here--he didn't care if there were thousands
of 'em. And--and I know he would, and I was afraid they'd kill him. And
so--and--so I stole away his pistol--and I was going to hide it when
you--you--you kicked open the door."
The men straightened up and looked at each other. The girl began to
weep again.
The captain mopped his brow. He peered down at the girl. He mopped his
brow again. Suddenly he said: "Ah, don't cry like that."
He moved restlessly and looked down at his boots. He mopped his brow
again.
Then he gripped the corporal by the arm and dragged him some yards back
from the others. "Jones," he said, in an intensely earnest voice, "will
you tell me what in the devil I am going to do?"
The corporal's countenance became illuminated with satisfaction at
being thus requested to advise his superior officer. He adopted an air
of great thought, and finally said: "Well, of course, the feller with
the grey sleeve must be upstairs, and we must get past the girl and up
there somehow. Suppose I take her by the arm and lead her--"
"What!" interrupted the captain from between his clinched teeth. As he
turned away from the corporal, he said fiercely over his shoulder: "You
touch that girl and I'll split your skull!"