"Are you brave?" inquired he of the girl, flushed and excited by the mad gallop.
"I do not know, judged by your measure," she replied; "but there's one thing sure, I would sooner kill myself than fall again into those ruffians' power."
"That's the true talk? By the way, have a knife," he said, putting a sheath dagger into her hand as if he were offering a bonbon to a child. "You may want it, though I fancy you have no great shakes to fear. I am responsible for you."
"Thank you. I believe in you."
The flight continued, only that the Canadians, being less wearied, gained like a whirlwind on a fleeing wayfarer.
Cherokee Bill had his Winchester "fourteen shoot" and a brace of heavy revolvers—a portable magazine.
"Keep on galloping," said he, "smack into the running water. You shall have a warm-up beyond. I reckon it will also be hot enough here!"
So saying he blazed away at the Half-breeds for six shots. Down went the men out of the saddles, the rest being terrified by the accuracy of aim and the long, killing range. Meanwhile Bill and the girl effected the crossing and came upon the plain where the Piegans were encamped. The reader knows the sequel. For the nonce Doña Rosario was safe.
The day advanced, and yet the Cherokee seemed loth to check his contemplation of mental pictures. Red Knife made up his mind to begin the talking.
"Are the ears of my father open?" he asked.