The air he was taking into his half strangled lungs cleared his
head and he drew away from Celie to begin the search of the room.
His eyes were more accustomed to the gloom, and suddenly he gave a
cry of exultation. Against the end of the mud and stone fireplace
stood a rifle and over the muzzle of this hung a belt and holster.
In the holster was a revolver. In his excitement and joy his
breath was almost a sob as he snatched it from the holster and
broke it in the light of the door. It was a big Colt Forty-five--
and loaded to the brim. He showed it to Celie, and thrust her to
the door.

"Watch!" he cried, sweeping his arm to the open. "Just two minutes
more. That's all I want--two minutes--and then--"

He was counting the cartridges in the belt as he fastened it about
his waist. There were at least forty, two-thirds of them soft-
nosed rifle. The caliber was .303 and the gun was a Savage. It was
modern up to the minute, and as he threw down the lever enough to
let him glimpse inside the breech he caught the glisten of
cartridges ready for action. He wanted nothing more. The cabin
might have held his weight in gold and he would not have turned
toward it.

With the rifle in his hands he ran past Celie out into the day.
For the moment the excitement pounding in his body had got beyond
his power of control. His brain was running riot with the joyous
knowledge of the might that lay in his hands now and he felt an
overmastering desire to shout his triumph in the face of their
enemies.