“Wait,” she said calmly, looking at him with such contempt that his eyes dropped before her.
Placing the bag on Ruth’s lap, Bab slowly opened it, fumbled inside for a moment and drew out a small pistol.
It caught a last ray of the setting sun, which had filtered through the trees and gleamed dangerously, in spite of its miniature size.
Barbara pointed it deliberately at the robber, with a steady hand, and said quietly:
“Drop that knife and run unless you want me to shoot you!”
The robber stared at her in amazement.
“Quick!” she said and gave the trigger an ominous click.
The pistol was pointed straight at his midwaist.
“Drop the knife,” repeated Barbara, “and back off.”
He dropped the knife and started backward down the road.