"Jeff, would it help any if I stayed home, instead of going to church?"
she asked. "I'm a pretty fair pistol-shot. Lane taught me. I can stay
over ninety at slow fire, and in the eighties at timed-and-rapid. If I
hid somewhere with a target pistol--"
"Absolutely not!" Rand vetoed emphatically. "I'm not saying that because
I'm afraid you might stop a slug yourself. You're a big girl, now; you
can take your own chances. But if you stayed home, he wouldn't make a
move. You and Geraldine and Nelda have to be out of the house before
he'll feel safe coming out of the grass."
"Watch it!" Ritter warned. "Yes, ma'am; at once, ma'am."
Nelda came in and sat down. Ritter held her chair and fussed over her,
finding out what she wanted to eat. He was bringing in her fruit when
Varcek and Geraldine entered. Nelda was inquiring if Rand wanted to come
to church with them.
"No; I'm one of the boys the chaplain couldn't find in the foxholes,"
Rand said. "I'm going to put in a quiet morning on the collection. If
nobody gets murdered or arrested in the meantime, that is."
Geraldine looked woebegone; her hands were trembling. "My God, do I have
a hangover!" she moaned. "Walters, for heaven's sake, fix me up
something, quick!" Then she saw Ritter.
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