“Ho, ho, ho! jest hear her, Anatole! Ain’t she a bu’ster and no mistake? I’ll back that gal,” he continued in a tone of great admiration, “ag’inst any gal in these hyar foot-hills—ag’in the world! But, ye’ve got to go, little gal; we kain’t git along without ye.”
“You will be obliged to do so, let me tell you,” she answered, in the same undaunted tone. “I am not going with you, at any rate.”
“Ketch hold ov her, Anatole!” replied Velveteens. “I’d do it myself but my hand ain’t railly well yit.”
The Indian made a step in advance but halted quickly as Myrtle lifted the carbine and pointed it at his naked breast. There was a look in her face which he did not like and which puzzled him for he had seldom met a white girl who could use a rifle.
“What ar’ ye doin’ girl?” roared Velveteens. “P’int thet thing another way; it mout go off an’ hurt the Injun.”
“It will go off if he takes another step,” she answered, in the same cool tone she had used throughout. “I do not intend to become your prisoner.”
The face of the Indian turned to a sickly white, for he saw death in the eyes of this brave young girl. Velveteens was startled, too, and began to think that it might not be so easy to capture her as he had imagined.
“Take keer!” he cried. “Ef ye hurt the Injun b’ar in mind that I am hyar and kin make ye trouble. Jump at her, Anatole; she kain’t hit ye.”
The Indian made a leap and instantly fell, shot through the shoulder. The ball had no sooner left the barrel than Velveteens bounded forward with a panther-like spring, but stopped in dismay as he met the shining barrel of a cocked revolver pointed at his head.
“Back!” she cried, sternly; “fall back, I say! I would not have your blood upon my hands, but for my honor’s sake I would kill a hundred such men and think I had done the world good service. Put up your hands! If you try to draw a weapon I will kill you. Up; higher still!”