"Heaven save me from that classification!" she observed, with emphasis on the pronoun.
"Yes?" he drawled. "Well, there's no profit in arguing that point. Let's be getting on."
He reached for the lead rope of the nearest pack horse.
Hazel urged Silk up a step. "Mr. Wagstaff," she cried, "I must go back."
"You can't go back without me," he said. "And I'm not traveling that way, thank you."
"Please—oh, please!" she begged forlornly.
Roaring Bill's face hardened. "I will not," he said flatly. "I'm going to play the game my way. And I'll play fair. That's the only promise I will make."
She took a look at the encompassing woods, and her heart sank at facing those shadowy stretches alone and unguided. The truth of his statement that she would never reach Cariboo Meadows forced itself home. There was but the one way out, and her woman's wit would have to save her.
"Go on, then," she gritted, in a swift surge of anger. "I am afraid to face this country alone. I admit my helplessness. But so help me Heaven, I'll make you pay for this dirty trick! You're not a man! You're a cur—a miserable, contemptible scoundrel!"
"Whew!" Roaring Bill laughed. "Those are pretty names. Just the same, I admire your grit. Well, here we go!"