She stabbed the pitchfork into the dirt floor.
There must be something she could use in the barn - a pitchfork, anything.
Once inside the barn, she grabbed the pitchfork and a flashlight and then darted out the barn door, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Brandishing the pitchfork with renewed courage, she boldly strode to Brutus.
She grabbed the pitchfork and poked it in his direction, screaming as she did so.
She turned and threw the pitchfork toward the barn.
Tug, scream, shine the flashlight, throw the pitchfork toward the barn.
She stumbled back and grabbed the pitchfork, jabbing it at him.
She forked some hay to Princes and leaned the pitchfork against the wall near the door.
She darted for the pitchfork and he caught her mid-stride, lifting her off her feet.
She stepped back and held the pitchfork ready as he scrambled to his feet and headed for the door.
She leaned the pitchfork against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief.
Obviously a pitchfork wasn't sufficient.
One carried a gun, one had a pitchfork, and the third had an ax.
His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov.