He retreated slowly, still facing her, and speaking in the same careless tone which he had assumed lately.
“I never thought, my dear girl, that I should ever become your prisoner in this particular way. I did hope that at some time you would hold me in a willing and sweeter bondage, the bondage of those who love and are beloved again. I have not yet given up hope.”
“You will force me to fire at you yet,” she said, raising the carbine a little.
“Don’t do it, my sweet; I don’t like it and it would be foolish to shed the blood of one who loves you to the confines of desperation. In fact, I yet indulge the hope that—hurrah!”
Myrtle suddenly felt herself seized from behind, and inclosed in a strong grasp, while the carbine was thrown into the air and went off without injury to any one. Slightly turning her head she saw the leering, evil face of the man called Velveteens close to hers.
“Ha, ha, ha, Rafe! You got it this time! The little cuss is pizen—pizen of the cussidest kind, ain’t she?”
The man had crept up while she was engaged in parley with Norris, and seized her before she could turn. It was vain to struggle and Myrtle allowed the carbine to be taken from her hand without a word of objection.
“Order your man Friday to take his hands off me,” she said. “I am not used to such treatment as this.”
“You desarve wuss,” hissed Velveteens. “See yer, Rafe, ye’d better give her to me, an’ ef I don’t tame her then my hand is out, that’s all.”
“Be quiet, Velveteens,” was the reply. “This girl is mine and I mean to make her my wife, so beware what you say or do. If I order the man to release you, will you promise not to get a weapon?”