“Seguro, señor,” assented the halfbreed with a flash of his white teeth. Sidewinder, now that the girl had seen them, turned and sent a stentorian hail down the cañon, bidding Emery come along up. Then he started climbing again to where the girl stood beside her little fire, staring at the arrivals in alarm and fear that could not be wholly veiled.
“Morning, miss,” called Sidewinder as they approached her camp. “How’s everything?”
“All right, thanks,” she returned, low-voiced, obviously startled.
“I was goin’ by with some friends o’ mine,” said Sidewinder, puffing with the climb, “and thought we’d stop in and see if you were all right. —Bill, rustle up some firewood for the lady!”
Cholo Bill smiled and went about his task. Sidewinder approached the girl.
“We’re going to leave Ramsay with you a spell,” he said. “He’s a mite scratched up, but aint hurt to speak of. Fell off a hoss, I reckon. Miss, where’s that pistol of yours? Let’s have a look at it.”
He did not miss her start at Ramsay’s name. His gray eyes glittered on her, bored into her, and as she met that deadly gaze, there was a struggle in her face.
“You want—my pistol?” she faltered.
“If you please, ma’am.”
Her hand went to her bosom and produced a small, flat automatic. Still she hesitated, a surge of anger coming into her eyes—then as she looked past Sidewinder, she saw the other three figures turning the bend. At once she held out the weapon.