Ramsay, arms bound and gagged as he was, was more terrified than the girl. He knew that Ximines might at any instant leap into stark blood-madness or wild passion. Alienists declare that the man who thinks himself about to explode is the most dangerous of all maniacs; but men on the border know that more dangerous than any maniac is the smoker of marihuana. So, with the intention of quietly working his way toward the girl, in a desperate hope that she might be able to release his bound arms, Ramsay continued his slow forward advance.
Then, sudden as the flashing stroke of a snake, Ximines was on his feet, pistol out.
“One more step, little señor, and I cut your throat and drink your blood!” he exclaimed, a wild and lurid glare in his eyes. A cry broke from the girl.
“Stop! Leave us alone—go on down and look after those horses!” She faced him as he turned to her, grinning. Despite the terror that was upon her, she met his grin defiantly, bravely. “Go on down the cañon as you were told to do!”
Ximines thrust away his pistol and took a step toward her, glaring eyes gripped upon her.
“Manuel has come to take you, little señorita of the white throat,” he declared in soft Spanish, and if the girl could not understand his words, his manner was beyond all mistake. “Come to me, little cooing dove! I shall show you how we treat the gringo señoritas in my country.”
Ramsay hurled himself forward, frantic with horror, flung himself at the Mexican. Ximines grinned, avoided the rush, deftly tripped the bound man and then struck him with an open-handed blow that sent him headlong among the rocks. Next instant, with a sudden and unexpected lurch forward, he was upon Ethel Gilman and had caught her in both arms.
“Come, señorita—”
She struck him across the face, staggering him, and struck him again so that he loosed her and fell back, hand to eyes. A wild scream burst from him, and he whipped out a knife, swaying as he stood.
“Ha! I shall drink your blood for that blow, white-throat!” he yelled.