He had his arms above his head, of course, as he spoke, and in his bewilderment and chagrin he looked more comical than ever; but Esmeralda knew that one false move of hers would turn the comedy into a tragedy. The man had received orders to shoot her if she attempted to escape, and he would carry them out promptly enough if she gave him the chance.
Still covering him, she advanced slowly, and with fingers that trembled notwithstanding her courage, she drew the revolver from his belt.
The man offered no resistance, for he had heard of Esmeralda; and if he had not, there was something in her flashing eyes, and her lips, set resolutely, which would have inspired him with a wholesome fear.
“Now get me the horse!” she said.
The man looked at her with a reluctant admiration.
“You’re a game ’un!” he said. “It ’pears to me that Simon has met his match at last.” Then he turned to the woman: “I hold you to witness that it was no fault of mine. It wa’n’t my revolver she got hold of.”
The woman inclined her head.
“Get the horse,” said Esmeralda again. “This woman is as blameless as you. I threatened to shoot her, and would have done so. You forgot when you took me that I was reared in Three Star.”
She could not have denied herself the note of triumph if her life had depended upon it.
“Yes; you’re always one too many for us,” said the man, resignedly. “But there’ll be the devil to pay when Simon comes back.”