For some moments after the departure of her father and White Slayer, Pearl stood in silent meditation, as though undecided what course to pursue. At length her mind seemed made up, and she started down the glen.
But she had not taken a second step before she came to a sudden halt, for not twenty paces from her she beheld a man who had stepped from behind a large bowlder and advanced toward her.
At first Pearl seemed about to run, but checking this determination, she stood on the defensive, with her rifle half raised to her shoulder.
“I am a friend, miss, and the captain sent me back to give this to your father.”
The man halted near her and held out his hand as if to give her something. He was a burly-looking fellow, clad half in buckskin, half in homespun, and was heavily armed with revolvers and knife. His face was wholly corrupt; in it there was not one redeeming expression. Pearl did not like his looks, and said suspiciously:
“What captain do you refer to?”
“Kansas King. I am his lieutenant, and am called Burke, miss.”
“Bad Burke, is it not?” said Pearl quietly.
“Well, my enemies do call me Bad Burke, miss, but it is because I am a bad hand with the knife, and no man dare meet me with it; but my friends don’t call me Bad Burke.”