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.
"Come on, you devils! Come on, come on," he cried. And then,
powerless to restrain what was in him, he let out a yell.
From the door Celie was staring at him. A few moments before her
face had been dead white. Now a blaze of color was surging back
into her cheeks and lips and her eyes shone with the glory of one
who was looking on more than triumph.
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