“I dares,” replied Garey. “She’s yourn now, I suppose. You may take her whar ye like; and take this too,” continued he, tearing off the embroidered pipe-case, and flinging it at the Indian’s feet; “but ye’re not a-goin’ to shoot her down whiles I stand by.”
“By what right do you interrupt me? My sister is not afraid, and—”
“Your sister!”
“Yes, my sister.”
“And is yon gal your sister?” eagerly inquired Garey, his manner and the expression of his countenance all at once changing.
“She is. I have said she is.”
“And are you El Sol?”
“I am.”
“I ask your pardon; but—”