The Colonel dropped his shovel and clenched his hands.
"Get the woman out o' the way," said the owner; "there's goin' to be trouble with this fire-eating Southerner."
The woman turned quickly. The Colonel, diving under the sluice-box for a plunge at Austin, came up face to face with her.
"The lady," said the Colonel, catching his breath, shaking with rage, but pulling off his hat—"the lady is quite safe, but I'm not so sure about you." He swerved as if to get by.
"Safe? I should think so!" she said steadily, comprehending all at once, and not unwilling to create a diversion.
"This is no place for a woman, not if she's got twenty letters from the Gold Commissioner."
Misunderstanding Austin's jibe at the official, the lady stood her ground, smiling into the face of the excited Kentuckian.
"Several people have asked me if I was not afraid to be alone here, and I've said no. It's quite true. I've travelled so much that I came to know years ago, it's not among men like you a woman has anything to fear."
It was funny and pathetic to see the infuriate Colonel clutching at his grand manner, bowing one instant to the lady, shooting death and damnation the next out of heavy eyes at Austin. But the wiry little woman had the floor, and meant, for peace sake, to keep it a few moments.
"At home, in the streets of London, I have been rudely spoken to; I have been greatly annoyed in Paris; in New York I have been subject to humorous impertinence; but in the great North-West every man has seemed to be my friend. In fact, wherever our English tongue is spoken," she wound up calmly, putting the great Austin in his place, "a woman may go alone."