“Them’s my sentiments,” Williams answered. “Y’ see, I been holdin’ a sort a’ option on this here person for some time. Reckon I’ll jest take it up now that I got the chance. Mrs. Wasp Williams! Sounds purty nice, don’t it?”
The girl opened her eyes. They were dark and glittering.
“You coward!” she taunted. “Why don’t you shoot me? I dare you! I dare you all!”
But the grin on his face only broadened.
“Reckon I ain’t a goin’ to do nothin’ foolish like that—sweetheart,” he mocked. “I got better plans.” He advanced toward her.
Just then Peterson, with a supreme effort, withdrew his hand from the slit in his robe. There was a small cylindrical object in his knotted fist. So far he had not been noticed. Now he suddenly stooped forward and struggled to reach his half-freed hands with his lips. He could not quite make it. Without hesitation, the quick-witted little man dropped the object he had been holding to the ground. He threw himself upon it.
The others had quickly realized his intention, and with a rush they were upon him. But they were a moment too late. He had succeeded in closing his teeth upon the precious whistle, and before it could be knocked from his lips its loud, long blast had shrilled through the woods.
Taking advantage of the momentary pause that resulted, the little man managed to drag himself to his feet. Now he hurled himself, bonds and all, at the figure of Williams. With a snarl of fury, that highly moral and conscientious individual snatched his revolver from its holster and fired twice, point blank. Both bullets buried themselves in Peterson’s breast.
The little man stopped, stood still an instant with an old, surprised expression on his face, and crumpled up in the dust of the road.
“Don’t stand there gawpin’, you fools!” There was a note of alarm in the Wasp’s shout. “Quick! Git aboard them nags o’ yourn an’ clear out! First thing y’ know, we’ll have a flock o’ them black devils on our heels. I’ll take care o’ this here person.”