"Get up," she again ordered, "or I shall hand you over to the Indians.
They will not be so considerate of you as we are."
As Curly still made no effort to rise, Glen uttered just two Indian words to Sconda. The latter immediately turned and roared a command to his followers. At once half a dozen natives sprang eagerly forward, but before they could lay hands upon him Curly was on his feet, trembling violently. He leaped aside from the natives, his face ghastly pale.
"Keep them off!" he yelled. "Don't let the devils touch me!"
"I thought that would bring you somewhat to your senses," and a smile of contempt hovered about the corners of Glen's mouth as she spoke. "But I mean what I say, you can be assured of that. Tell me, now, what is the meaning of all this? Why did you bring Mr. Reynolds here, and what were you going to do to him?"
"He murdered his pardner," was the low reply.
Glen gave a violent start at this accusation, and looked keenly at Curly. Her hands trembled, and it seemed to her as if her heart had stopped beating.
"Who was his partner?" she at length found voice to ask.
"Frontier Samson, of course. He was a friend of ours, and we were about to avenge his death, when you interfered."
"But how did you learn that Frontier Samson is dead?" Glen inquired.
"Because no one has seen him since he left camp with this guy," and he motioned to Reynolds who was standing nearby. "Samson hasn't shown up at Big Draw, an' his pardner doesn't care to explain what happened to him."