He looked at the dagger, quivering ominously in her hand, and Dorothy dropped from his nerveless hands and he jumped back beside Jack, hoarsely exclaiming, “God, she’s a tartar!”
“Run to your mother, Dorothy! To the boat, Constance, quick!” urged Virginia, as she stood erect, fearless and tragic between the men and their prey.
“Are we curs to be daunted by this Oregon girl, this slip of a woman?” exclaimed Rutley hoarsely.
“Beware! The edge is sharp, the poison deadly!” cautioned Virginia, in a voice that thrilled and which left no doubt as to her determination to use the weapon to the limit of her ability.
Jack laughed—laughed low, hoarse and sarcastically. “He, he, he, he, he. Scarce da fine a lady—wid a da white a nice a hand. Mak-a eem all a da carmine, eh? He, he, he, he, he, he.”
She made no reply, yet there darted from her eyes a lightning flash of desperate purpose.
Rutley clearly understood the sign and, leaning over close to Jack, whispered: “We must get the knife from her at all hazards.”
“Signora, good a da lady, eh! Mak a da bloody fista, eh!” Jack leered as he concentrated his gaze upon the girlish form drawn up to her fullest height before him.
Again he laughed low and hoarsely:
“Ha, ha, ha, ha! Eesa know a da way to fix ’em!”