“And leave Myrtle alone?”
“She knows what ter do ef any one comes,” replied Old Pegs. “Don’t you, gal?”
“I am not afraid,” was the reply. “Besides, I don’t think that we shall be troubled any more.”
“Perhaps not, but it is best to be on the safe side. Keep a bright look-out, and if you see any one, let them find an empty house.”
“I will keep my carbine handy, too,” replied the spirited girl. “But, father is right, Dave; you have a duty to perform, and have no right to leave it for me. I like to have you attend to the work which is given you to do.”
Old Pegs prudently departed, and the lips of the lovers met in a long, clinging kiss. Then she pushed him away with a hightened color, and watched them as they passed out of the valley, leaving her alone. She missed the tame bear greatly, for, in her solitary hours she had derived much amusement from his antics. The day passed slowly, although much of it was spent in study. After dinner she look her carbine—a weapon with the use of which she was familiar—and leaving the house went up the mountain in pursuit of game. An antelope was not long in presenting itself, and quickly fell before her unerring aim. Loading again she was engaged in putting on a cap, when two men suddenly started up in the sage-bush beside her, in the foremost of whom she recognized Velveteens—his hand bound up in a bloody cloth. The other was an Indian in the dress of the Modoc Sioux.
“Hyar’s luck, Anatole!” bawled Velveteens. “Little gal, how ar’ ye?”
“None the better for meeting you,” she replied, with her hand still upon the lock of the carbine, which she cocked by a quick movement. “What do you want?”
“Nothin’, nothin’, gal; only we’d like to hev ye take a walk with us. Thar’s a young man in our camp lit’rally spilin’ to see ye.”
“I am afraid he will ‘spile’ altogether, then,” she answered, “for I am not going with you.”