hear the sigh of one of the men, the pad of bare feet, and the nonchalant "Forty-three, forty-four" of the counting officer.
It was then that McKinnon lifted her bodily into the driving-seat, whispering to her to sit low, even catching at her outstretched hand and conveying it to the starting-lever.
"Start as the door opens," she heard whisper, and she knew that he had crept forward again, and that she was alone in the car. She tried to school herself to calmness, to coerce her attention on which was the starting-lever and which the speed-lever, to force into life the hope that all might still turn out well. Once free of that door, she felt, she could breathe again.
She waited, straining through the dim light, wondering what kept McKinnon so long.
Then the quietness was broken by the sudden sound of metal rasping on metal, of a falling piece of wood that echoed cavernously through the high-roofed shed.
"Who is there?" cried the startled officer, in Spanish, as he swung about with his lantern. He whipped out a revolver from his belt as he repeated the challenge. The door had not opened; they were shut in, trapped.
The oflicer sprang forward, holding the lantern out at his side as he ran. The girl's heart
