He was about to repeat this, when she gaspingly cried out.
There was an answering shout, the sound of someone running, a voice that imparted courage, crying, “I am here, Kasba!” and suddenly she was wrested from the man’s clutches and he was sent violently to the snow.
Palpitating with fear, the girl crouched down, hiding her face in her hands.
Roy stood breathing sharply, waiting for the man to rise. “By heaven, Broom,” he thundered, in a wrath that was terrible, “this is too much! I will not stand this!”
Broom picked himself up. Instinctively his hand felt for his revolver; he evidently had no scruples against attacking an unarmed man (when Roy rushed to Kasba’s assistance he had dropped his gun and it lay some few yards away), and inwardly he cursed himself for not having the weapon upon his person. “Curse you,” he cried hoarsely, a paroxysm of rage almost preventing the utterance. “I’ll kill you for that!” and, roaring like a wild beast, he hurled himself upon his opponent.
The other’s blazing eyes narrowed ominously. He met Broom’s mad rush with a swing of his heavy arm. The impact resounded sharply, and there was considerable force behind the blow, for the brute staggered and again fell.
Recovering himself, he stood sucking his bleeding lips, and glaring venomously at his antagonist. “You won’t stand this!” he shouted with a blast of profanity; “and who are you?” Then with an insolent laugh: “Oh, I see now how ’tis, I was poaching on your preserves.”
The trader made a quick step toward him.
But defiantly the fellow went on: “Of course if I’d known how matters stood between you and this little——”
“Silence!” roared Roy, rushing upon him. “Silence! Speak another word and I will kill you! By heaven, I will! I will kill you where you stand!” His eyes fixed upon the other’s blazing orbs and held them.