Still, he did not shoot.
It was like throwing pebbles at the bowlder in the Malad, the day
before.
When Phoebe came running in terror toward the fusillade, with
Marie and her swollen face, and Evadna and her red eyes following
in great trepidation far behind, they found four claim-jumpers
purple from long swearing, and the boys gleefully indulging in
revolver practice with various camp utensils for the targets.
They stopped when their belts were empty as well as their guns,
and they went back to the house with the women, feeling much
better. Afterward they searched the house for more "shells,"
clattering from room to room, and looking into cigar boxes and
upon out-of-the-way shelves, while Phoebe expostulated in the
immediate background.
"Your father would put a stop to it pretty quick if he was here,"
she declared over and over. "Just because they didn't shoot back
this time is no sign they won't next time you boys go to
hectoring them." All the while she knew she was wasting her
breath, and she had a secret fear that her manner and her tones
were unconvincing.
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