“There, naow!” the sheriff of the county exclaimed, panting. “I got one of ’em, even if it was a girl.”
He lunged from his horse and seized Maria, who was wrenching frantically to get her finger out of the trigger-guard Cunningham had held tightly.
She flashed a glance of bitter hatred at Cunningham.
“Easy,” said Cunningham with sudden heat. “What are you arresting her for? I was showing her how to shoot a revolver.”
“No thanks to ye for that, then,” panted the sheriff. “Here, Joel, come an’ help me get the cuffs on her.”
Cunningham brought down a heavy hand on the sheriff’s arm.
“What’s this for?” he demanded hotly. “I didn’t hold her for you!”
“I’m arrestin’ her for murder, that’s what. She’s one of them Strange People, she is. An’ they killed that furriner last night. You know that. You saw him this mornin’. Mr. Vladimir told me. Joel, come here an’ help me. Help me get her hands in these cuffs.”
Cunningham wrenched the sheriff’s hands free.
“Don’t be a fool,” he snapped angrily. “That killing was the work of men! This girl had nothing to do with it!”