"No right. Only I want it. I don't want to make trouble."
"You! A Western man, and speak that way to a woman! Saunders, I'm ashamed to think you ever worked for us."
"Oh, I know you got nerve. But I'm in a hurry. Hand it over. Then you can call me anything you like."
"I shall not hand it over."
"All right. I got to have it."
The girl, her gray eyes blazing with indignation, backed away as he strode toward her. "You'd dare, would you?" And as Saunders laughed she cut him across the face with her quirt.
His face, streaked with the red welt of the rawhide, grew white as he controlled his anger. He leaped at her and had his hands on her when she struck him again with all her strength. He staggered back, his hand to his eyes.
A wild rush of hoofs, a shock, a crash, and he was beneath the plunging feet of the Yuma colt. The pony flashed past, her head jerking up. Louise saw Collie leap to the ground and come running back.
Saunders, rolling to his side, reached for his holster, when he saw that in Collie's hand which precluded further argument.
"Don't get up!" said Collie quietly. "I never killed a man—but I'm going to, quick, if you lift a finger."