with sudden
inspiration.

Mrs. Archer, who liked her cup of tea, made no objections, and Mary sprang
up and went back to the kitchen. Filling a saucepan from the pump, she got
the tea-caddy out of a cupboard, and then paused in the middle of the
room, staring out into the gathering dusk.

Neither doors nor windows in the ranch-house were ever locked, and, save
on really cold nights, they were rarely even closed. But now, of a sudden,
the girl felt she would be much more comfortable if everything were shut
up tight, and setting down the pan and caddy on the table, she went over
to the nearest window.

It looked out on the various barns and sheds clustered at the back of the
ranch-house. The harness-room occupied the ground floor of the nearest
shed, with a low, seldom-entered loft above, containing a single, narrow
window without glass or shutters.

As Mary approached the open kitchen window, herself invisible in the
shadows of the room, a slight sense of movement in that little square
under the eaves of the shed roof drew her glance swiftly upward. To her
horror she caught a momentary glimpse of a face framed in the narrow
opening. It vanished swiftly--far too swiftly to be recognized. But
recognition was not necessary. The mere knowledge that some one was hidden
in the loft--had probably been hidden there all along--turned the girl
cold and instantly awakened her worst fears.

CHAPTER XXX

LYNCH SCORES

How long she stood there staring fearfully at the empty window of the
shed, Mary Thorne had no idea. She seemed frozen and incapable of
movement. But at last, with a shiver, she came to herself, and bending
out, drew in the heavy wooden, shutters and fumbled with the catch. The
bolt was stiff from disuse, and her hands shook so that she was scarcely
able to thrust it into the socket. Still trembling, she closed and bolted
the door and made fast the other windows. Then she paused in the middle of
the room, slim fingers clenched tightly together, and heart beating loudly
and unevenly.

"What shall I do?" she said aloud in a strained whisper. "What shall I
do?"

Her glance sought the short passage, and, through it, the cozy brightness
of the living-room.

"I mustn't let her know," she murmured.

After a moment more of indecision she stepped into the small room opening
off the kitchen, which had been occupied by Pedro and his wife. Having
bolted the shutters of the single window, she came back into th