“You little tiger-cat,” he said. “What would you give for a pistol, now?”
“I only wish I had one,” she gasped, clenching her hands hard.
“Here is one,” he said, drawing the weapon from his belt and presenting the butt to her. “Let us see what use you will make of it.”
She grasped the revolver with eager fingers, and quick as thought pointed it at his breast and pulled the trigger. The cap snapped but there was not a cartridge in the chambers and he laughed until the cabin rung again.
“You would do it, my fine girl,” he said. “There; drop it—the weapon is not loaded, and I should be a fool to trust myself in your hands.”
He had made a mistake in giving her any weapon. Throwing her hand back, she hurled the heavy revolver at his head, and it struck him fairly between the eyes, and for a moment he reeled blindly to and fro, half-stunned by the sudden and terrible blow. This was the moment for Myrtle, and darting past him she caught up her carbine and cocked it quickly. By the time he had somewhat recovered from the blow, he saw her standing armed and ready, the carbine pointed at his heart.
“There is a load in this weapon, Mr. Rafe Norris,” she said with a merry laugh. “The tables are turned, I think. Take care! If you have any desire to live, do not dare to move hand or foot.”
The tables were turned indeed, and by his own folly. He had not dreamed that this weak girl could so suddenly become the assailant, and he staggered back, still weak and confused, looking at her with a wild, questioning stare.
“You dare not fire,” he hissed. “Down with the carbine, girl.”
“Dare not! You do not know what a woman will dare for her honor which is dearer to her than life.”