The stranger frowned angrily, and a curse broke from his lips. Then he uttered a low, peculiar whistle, twice repeated.
Morton had turned half round, forgetting his pain in wonder and terror. As the whistle sounded the second time, he saw a dim, shadowy figure glide out from the darkness and stand before the old man.
Though he could not distinguish the features of this newcomer, Morton knew that she—for it was unmistakably the form of a woman—was young, from the lithe, rounded figure and agile, graceful movements.
The old man spoke a few quick words that the outlaw could not catch, then added aloud as he strode away:
“If he attempts to arise, Lola, shoot him. He must not escape yet.”
“I do not fear him. If he is wise, he will lie still.”
Morton could scarce believe his ears. The words and voice were in such direct contrast. The one soft and musical as the notes of a bird, the other stern and determined.
Strange events were crowding fast upon him that night, but this was the strangest of them all. Speechless and half-stupefied, he gazed upon the woman before him. Never before had he beheld such marvelous beauty—loveliness of a fiery, yet voluptuous, oriental type.
She was tall for a woman, several inches above the medium hight, in fact, but all was the most perfect symmetry. Her hair, black, glossy and luxuriant, hung in heavy masses below her waist, unconfined save by a simple band of beaded doe-skin that crossed above her forehead. Of a dark, Spanish-like complexion, with large, lustrous eyes, cheeks tinged with the red blush of perfect health; with full, slightly-pouting lips of scarlet, rich, juicy and tempting; rounded chin, and graceful neck sloping down to a swelling bust that Venus herself might have envied; a round, compact waist incased in a neatly-fitting dress of whitely-tanned doe-skin. Leggings of the same material fitted the round, swelling limbs, ending in dainty, beaded moccasins.
Standing in an attitude of careless ease, the strange beauty was gazing half-mockingly upon the wounded outlaw, one hand clasping the butt of a small, silver-mounted revolver with an ease that bespoke long use and perfect familiarity with the weapon.