Varamyr might have been amongst them if only he’d been stronger. The sea was grey and cold and far away, though, and he knew that he would never live to see it. He
was nine times dead and dying, and this would be his true death. A squirrel-skin cloak, he remembered, he knifed me for a squirrel-skin cloak.
“Don’t go out,” Mrs. Langwell urged as her husband began to don his trousers hastily under his robe.
“It’s quite safe,” he assured her. Before he was ready there came a pounding at the door—alarmed voices shouted, “You people all right, Langwell?”
“That’s Mr. Howard. He’s the sheriff of the county and must have been in the neighborhood.”
“I’ll be right down,” Mrs. Langwell called. Presently the officer of the law was standing in the hall, while she explained what had happened.
“Glad nobody’s hurt, least-wise, none of you folks. I’ll go out and have a look44 around.” There was a business-like gun in his hand and his chin was set firmly.
“I’m coming with you,” Mr. Langwell called from the top of the stairs as he hurried to join the sheriff.
“I’m coming too, Dad.”
“Stay with your mother, please,” he answered, so Roberta obeyed.
“There isn’t a thing you can do out there, Honey,” Mrs. Langwell assured her. “And you might get in the way.”
So the girl had to be content to remain inside, while sounds of people running, sharp questions, brief answers, and the noise of automobiles stopping while the occupants
demanded to know what was the difficulty came to them from outside. Half an hour later Mr. Langwell came back with the sheriff and their nearest neighbor, and
although they were greatly excited, they had discovered nothing more than some footprints of the robbers, and the place where a large car had been parked by the
side of the road, obviously waiting to assist
from the scene
of their mischief.