He knew, and, knowing, he meant to act.
"Madame," he repeated, "where is the rifle?
It is useless for you to deny." "Have I denied ?" "No, but where is the rifle ?" He was wholly unconscious of it, but his surprise and excitement were so great that his hand closed upon hers in a strong muscular contraction.
Thrills of pain shot through her body, but she did not move.
"The rifle! The rifle!" repeated Dick.
"Loose my hand, and I will give it to you." His hand fell away and she walked to the end of the room where a rug, too long, lay in a fold against the wall.

She turned back the fold and took from its hiding place a slender-barreled cap-and-ball rifle.
Without a word she handed it to Dick and he passed his hand over the muzzle, which was still warm.
He looked at her, but she gave back his gaze unflinching.
"I could not believe it, were it not so," he said.
"But it is so.

The bullets were not aimed well enough." Dick felt an emotion that he did not wholly understand.
"Madame," he said, "I shall take the rifle, and again say good-by.
As before, I wish you well." She resumed her seat in the chair and took up the knitting.

But she did not repeat her wish that Dick and all his men be shot before night.
He went out in silence, and gently closed the door behind him.

In the hall he met Sergeant Whitley and said: "We needn't look any farther.