“Forgive me—oh, forgive me!” cried Lola, as she observed the effect of her mad act. “I would rather that bullet had pierced my heart than to harm you!”
A hoarse cry came echoing from without. The three inmates of the chamber experienced a thrill as they divined its purport. Mestayer had heard the confusion, and was coming to investigate it.
Two clicks sounded through the chamber. Campbell cocked his pistols. So did Lola. The eyes of all were turned toward the entrance. They had not long to wait, for the next moment Mestayer burst into the chamber, his eyes ablaze, his hand clutching a revolver.
“What is this—who set you free?” he cried, hoarsely, as he noticed Campbell standing erect, pale but defiant. “Ha! you did—traitress!” and his pistol covered Lola’s heart.
“No—I did it,” tremblingly cried Fannie, as she saw the peril of one innocent.
“You too!” for the first time noticing the maiden. “Fortunately I am prepared for it. Now, sir,” he added, in a cold, deadly tone. “Drop your pistol, or I shoot you down like a dog.”
“Two can play at that game. Stand aside and let us pass,” uttered Campbell, as with a rapid motion he raised his pistol to a level.
“Bah! If I should, what better would you be by it? My friends are by this time at the baranca. They would stop you if I did not.”
“Father, let them go free. Those coming without are their friends, not yours. They are white men—the settlers who were on his trail,” and Lola glided forward.
“Traitress! but I’ll not be balked entirely—I’ll strike one blow before I die!”