But she would find out.
It was about this time that Elizabeth's life at the store grew intolerable.
One morning--it was little more than a week before Christmas--Elizabeth had been sent to the cellar to get seven little red tin pails and shovels for a woman who wanted them for Christmas gifts for some Sunday-school class.

She had just counted out the requisite number and turned to go up-stairs when she heard some one step near her, and, as she looked up in the dim light, there stood the manager.
"At last I've got you alone, Bessie, my dear!" He said it with suave triumph in his tones.

He caught Elizabeth by the wrists, and before she could wrench herself away he had kissed her.
With a scream Elizabeth dropped the seven tin pails and the seven tin shovels, and with one mighty wrench took her hands from his grasp.
Instinctively her hand went to her belt, where were now no pistols.

If one had been there she certainly would have shot him in her horror and fury.
But, as she had no other weapon, she seized a little shovel, and struck him in the face.

Then with the frenzy of the desert back upon her she rushed up the stairs, out through the crowded store, and into the street, hatless and coatless in the cold December air.