“Perhaps not, but the attempt would have been made if you had not rebuked me for refusing to go back to the cave and fall into the hands of Buffalo Bill. I fooled you a while ago, but I have never fooled him.”
“I am glad of that,” was her quick interruption.
“Your joy won’t last,” the villain replied, with a snicker. “He will never leave the cave. He may, he probably has, got away with Raven Feather and Crow-killer as he got away with the brave I sent after you, but his victory will be a barren one. He can never escape from below. There he will starve and rot.”
Myra Wilton looked at the speaker with eyes that burned his soul.
“To think,” she said slowly, “that I should for one moment have trusted you. I would rather, far rather, live for the balance of my life as the squaw of the most despicable red man in these Western wilds than become your wife. Go! I am sick of the sight of you.”
Rixton Holmes arose to his feet, his countenance black with rage. He was past the feeling of shame. Advancing to where she sat, he extended his hands to grasp her by the wrists.
With a quick movement she was on her feet, and Holmes started back as she drew a pistol from the folds of her gown and pointed the muzzle at his head. His expression of amazement and alarm brought a smile of fierce satisfaction to her lips.
“I am able to defend myself, you see,” she coolly remarked. “The revolver came from the person of the Indian you sent to escort me from the chamber to the grotto. Mr. Cody, who overcame the Indian, insisted that I should take the weapon. The other pistol—the Indian had two—was appropriated by Mr. Cody.”
“Well, I’ll be——”
“You certainly will,” cut in the girl grimly, before the sentence could be finished. “And now,” she coolly proceeded, “I would thank you to unbuckle your belt and let your weapons drop to the ground. I mean business,” she continued, in a hard, menacing voice.