Go awn, start the damn Lizzie an' let's go." Ole bent to the cranking, then complained that the switch must be off.

His companion growled that it was nothing of the kind and kept his narrowed gaze fixed upon the woman.
She spied Casey standing there, a few rods beyond the car.

The gun dropped in her hand so that its aim was no longer direct.

The man who faced her jumped and caught her wrist, and the gun went off, the bullet singing ten feet above Casey's head.
A little girl with flaxen curls and patched overalls on screamed and rushed up to the man, gripping him furiously around the legs just above the knees and trying her little best to shake him.

"You leave my mamma alone!" she cried shrilly.
Casey took a hand then,--a hand with a rock in it, I must explain.