At last Jack broke the silence. “So, Captain Telfair,” he said. “We meet again!”
Slowly into Alagwa’s consciousness the meaning of Jack’s words penetrated. She did not move; she could not move; but her eyes focused on the man in hunter’s garb who leaned forward, half crouching, and glared into Jack’s face.
It was Brito. He had not even disguised himself, unless it be counted a disguise to discard his conspicuous red coat in favor of a neutral-tinted shirt and deerskin trousers. Had it not been for Alagwa’s dazed condition, she would have known him instantly.
As she watched, he threw back his shoulders and laughed with evil triumph.
“Yes!” he jeered. “We meet once more—for the last time. Your friends hounded me out of Wapakoneta. Damme! but they timed their actions well! Who would have thought they would drive me here just in time to intercept you. The fortunes of war, my dear cousin, the fortunes of war.”
Jack did not speak, and the other half raised his pistol and went on, with a sudden change of tone: “You cub,” he hissed, “you’ve got only yourself to blame. I warned you not to come between me and Estelle Telfair. You came—and now you pay for it. I’d be a fool to let you escape when fortune has delivered you into my hand.”
Captain Brito’s tones were growing more and more deadly. With each word Alagwa expected to hear his pistol roar and to see Jack go crashing down. Desperately she strove to spring to the rescue. But she could not move; she could not even cry aloud. A more than night-mare helplessness held her fast.
Jack faced his foe undauntedly. Not for an instant did he remove his eyes from Brito’s. Despite the disparity in weapons he seemed not at all afraid. “All right!” he said, coolly. “You’ve got the advantage and I don’t doubt you’re cur enough to use it. When you’re ready, stop yelping and blaze away.”
Brito flinched at the contempt in the American’s tones, but he held himself in check. “Where is the girl?” he rasped. “Where is she, d— you? Where have you put her? Give her up, and I’ll let you crawl home. Quick, now, or you die.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “The girl?” he echoed. “I haven’t”—he broke off—“Find her for yourself,” he finished. Alagwa knew that he had begun a denial. Why had he stopped? Had he suddenly guessed who she was? Or was he hoping to trap Brito into some admission—playing with him in the chilly dawn in the very face of death?