Grace Harlowe sprang forward, ahead of her companion, but she did not reach Emma. A pair of wiry arms were suddenly thrown about her, pinioning the Overton girl’s arms to her sides. Grace wriggled and struggled desperately, using every trick she knew to free herself, and appeared to be getting the best of the struggle, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred.
“Bud!” cried the woman sharply.
A man sprang forward in response to the call.
“Take her gun!” panted the woman. “She’s a terror.”
The rifle was wrenched from Grace’s hand, then the man jerked her hands behind her back and tied them there.
“Thar! I don’t reckon as you’ll do much more fightin’ right smart,” declared the woman, releasing her grip and stepping back, breathing heavily.
Grace, too, was breathing hard, but more from resentment than from exhaustion. She now swiftly began to reason out the meaning of what had occurred, and in a moment it became clear to her that she was in the hands of the band that had been harassing the Overton girls on the Apache Trail.
“Emma, are you hurt?” called Grace.
“Only my feelings. They’re wrecked,” answered Emma with a touch of her old-time humor. “Come here, Grace.”
“Stay where you be!” commanded the woman.