“Stop!” said the little man; and more nimbly than I had ever seen it done, he whipped out a pistol, cocked it, and covered Levi, who was sitting in his saddle not three paces from him. “Don’t take him,” he went on. “And stand still. If a man goes to draw his weapon I shoot.”
Never was a surprise more complete. The man who had tried to choke me let his arm fall from my shoulder, the men’s mouths opened, Levi gaped. Not a hand was raised among them.
“Wilmer’s prisoner, is he?” the little man went on; he spoke as quietly as he had spoken before. “And you were going to hang him? Mighty hurried, wasn’t it?”
“What the h—ll is it to you?” Levi cried.
The muzzle rose from his breast to his head. “Better tell that man of yours to be still!” the stranger said—this time he spoke rather grimly. Then to me “Taken at King’s Mountain, sir?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve a broken arm and my shoulder was crushed. I appeal to you to rescue me from these men. If you leave me in their hands—”
The man stopped me by a nod. He took his cigar from the corner of his mouth, threw it away and substituted for it something that gleamed in the light. He whistled shrilly.
“Better stand still!” he said, as one or two of the horses backed and sidled, “I miss sometimes, but not at three paces.” He whistled again, more loudly. “On second thoughts, you’ll be wise to take yourselves off,” he added.
“Not before I know who you are,” Levi retorted with an oath. His mean face was livid with anger—and fear.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” the stranger answered in the tone of a man making a concession; and to my astonishment he dropped the muzzle of his pistol, cooly uncocked it, and returned it to his pocket. “I am Marion of Marion’s Rangers, Marion of the Pee Dee River. My men will be here presently and if you take my advice you will be gone before they come. There are plenty of trees about and we have ropes. I will be responsible for your prisoner,” he added sternly. “Leave him to me.”