“I am called Kansas King.”
Instantly Pearl sprang back, and like a flash her rifle covered the heart of the outlaw chief.
Without the quiver of a muscle Kansas King looked at the girl who so threateningly held him at disadvantage, and his voice was unmoved as he asked:
“Why does my name thus offend you?”
“You are a vile murderer,” she said, “and have laid waste the homes of your own people and the villages of the red men in wanton destruction; you are a white robber, sir.”
Pearl’s eyes flashed fire, for often had the Indian runners brought news to her father of the ruthless acts of Kansas King and his band.
“You paint my character in harsh tones,” was the answer. “But, at any rate, I mean you no harm, but come here to see an old hermit, one who has lived for years in the Black Hills and is a medicine man or chief of the Sioux under White Slayer.”
He was looking at her earnestly.
“Do you know anything of such a man, for I take it you are some waif of an Indian camp?”
Pearl half lowered her rifle.