“That don’t prove nothing,” growled Pocock. “Drop that rein.”
“No, I won’t!” cried Eve. “Even the bridle is father’s. I recognize it.”
By this time the women from the shanties had arrived. They were dreadful looking creatures, and Laura was more afraid of them than she was of Pocock’s shot-gun.
“What’s them gals doin’ to your brother Mike, Hebe?” demanded one of the women. “They want slappin’, don’t they?”
“They want to l’arn to keep their han’s off’n my property,” growled Pocock. “Come! let the little horse go.”
“No!” cried Eve.
“Yes,” cried Pocock, shifting his gun threateningly.
“You bet she will!” cried the woman who had spoken before, and she started to climb up on Laura’s side of the cart.
Laura seized the whip and the woman jumped back.
“Shoot her, Hebe!” she yelled. “She’d a struck me with that thing!”