She had scarcely ceased speaking before he bounded to his feet, whirled around and confronted her, like a lion at bay, roaring forth:
"You have a revolver there, girl—move a finger and I shall throw myself upon you like an avalanche?"
"I have no revolver—watch my hands as I take them forth, and see!" said Capitola, stretching her arms out toward him.
"What do you mean, then, by your talk of sudden destruction?" inquired Black Donald, in a voice of thunder.
"I mean that it hangs over you—that it is imminent! That it is not to be escaped! Oh, man, call on God, for you have not a minute to live!"
The outlaw gazed on her in astonishment.
Well he might, for there she stood paler than marble—sterner than fate—with no look of human feeling about her, but the gleaming light of her terrible eyes, and the beading sweat upon her death-like brow.
For an instant the outlaw gazed on her in consternation, and then, recovering himself he burst into a loud laugh, exclaiming:
"Ha, ha, ha! Well, I suppose this is what people would call a piece of splendid acting! Do you expect to frighten me, my dear, as you did Craven Le Noir, with the peas!"
"Say 'Lord have mercy on my soul'—say it. Black Donald—say it. I beseech you!" she prayed.