Agnes walked straight up to her uncle. “You didn’t expect to see me, Mr. Muirhead, I know,” she began.
He turned a scornful look upon her. “And what do you want?” he growled.
“I want to tell you that I have come into possession of a piece of information which directly concerns you, and that I have come to warn you. A number of men are coming here to-night to tar and feather you and ride you on a rail out of the settlement, and if they do not find you to-night, it will be some other night; they are in earnest, and there are too many of them for you to defy.”
“And you’re here to tell me this so that I can git out?” He laughed mockingly. “That’s a fine scheme of yours, but it won’t work.”
“But it is true.” Agnes was discouraged by this way of treating her facts.
“So you say. I’ve had folks try to skeer me before, but it don’t do. Here I stop and there’s nobody can budge me.”
“Ah, but—oh, tell him Carter.”
“I assure you, sir,” said Carter, in a rage that any one should dare to doubt a lady’s word, “I assure you that what Miss Kennedy says is strictly true. I can vouch for her word.”
“And who are you that I should believe you either?”
Carter’s hand flew to his pistols. “I am a Virginian, and a gentleman. You shall answer to me for your insults, sir. Miss Kennedy, I insist that you retire. No further speech is necessary with this—”