"Ah, this is more like it!" exclaimed the stranger quickly. "And if I refuse?"
A tide of passion flooded over Duval's swarthy face. He pushed his horse toward the new-comer, lifting his whip. There was a slight, almost negligent motion, and he found himself staring into the mouth of the long rifle which had reposed on the brown man's saddle-bow.
"Well, try it," smiled the stranger, but with a glint in his brown eyes as they rested on Duval's furious face. "I fancy my powder is still a bit too good for wasting, unless you force me. If you wish to pass, sir—take the mud."
For a moment Duval was choked by his rage. While plainly no coward, he was checked both at sight of the ready trigger-finger and the cold purpose in the brown eyes. The old man, watching keenly, stooped and picked up his fallen cap of coonskin.
"Devil take you," cried Duval hoarsely, the intensity of his passion clenching all his face into wild fury. "Sir, I—I——"
Whatever he might have said was stopped by a thud of hoofs. Once more the bend in the quiet Beargrass Creek Road was invaded at a critical moment, and this time by a girl who rode from the direction whence Duval had come. And as before, the arrival broke off threatening hostilities.
She was a beautiful girl enough, with her fresh firm face and clear grey eyes, and the red-gold hair falling over her shoulders. Her steed was bony and her gown was homespun, but Duval swung his horse around with a graceful bow and swept his hat to his stirrup as she drew rein.
"May I ride back to town with you, Madam Trigg?" he asked quietly, giving no hint of the storm which a moment before had convulsed him. "It seems there are strangers and odd characters about, and it may well——"
He was interrupted by a cry of surprise. The girl slipped from her saddle as the old man stepped forward, and with a swift hug and a laugh of rippling delight she flung her arms about his neck.
"You!" she cried. "Why, where on earth did you come from?"