“I don't need to ask. Empty out your pockets and take yourself off. Do you hear?” she added sharply, as the man made no movement to obey.
“I shan't do nothin' o' the sort,” he growled. “You go your ways and leave me to go mine—or it'll be the worse for 'ee.” He raised his gun threateningly.
The girl smiled.
“I'm not in the least afraid of that gun,” she said tranquilly. “But you are afraid to use it,” she added.
“Am I?” He wheeled suddenly, and, on the instant, a deafening report shattered the quiet of the woods. Then the smoke drifted slowly aside, revealing the man and the girl face to face once more.
But although she still stood her ground, dark shadows had suddenly painted themselves beneath her eyes, and the slight young breast beneath the jaunty sports coat rose and fell unevenly. Within the shelter of her coat-pockets her hands were clenched tightly.
“That was a waste of a good cartridge,” she observed quietly. “You only fired in the air.”
Black Brady glared at her.
“If I'd liked, I could 'ave killed 'ee as easy as knockin' a bird off a bough,” he said sullenly.
“You could,” she agreed. “And then I should have been dead and you would have been waiting for a hanging. Of the two, I think my position would have been the more comfortable.”