“There is the very one; here, Panther Kate! This way, please,” cried the scout.
The one to whom he called had just entered the room. She was a young girl. Her form was perfect, and her fancy dress of beaded buckskin, with short skirt and tight-fitting waist, set it off to perfection, while her soft gray hat, turned up upon one side, gave her face a fearless, saucy air that was very winning.
In her belt hung holsters that held two ivory-handled revolvers, and a knife was suspended to a short chain, while with a jaunty, devil-may-care air, she held a small rifle upon her shoulder. Beautiful she certainly was, and her dark eyes had won many a heart that had failed to make hers ache in return.
In Border City all knew her. She had come there over half a year before with a traveling dramatic company and had remained when they departed, and was engaged as a singer and dancer at the town theater. After appearing each night, she would mount her mustang and ride out to a little ranch she had purchased, two miles distant, where she lived alone, caring for her cattle herself, and devoting her days to hunting.
She was a superb horsewoman and a crack shot; in fact, her deadly aim with the revolver had gained her her name, for one day she had killed two panthers with her revolver as they were springing upon her. Having finished her act at the theater, Panther Kate, or as she was known on “the boards,” Kate Kearney, took a stroll through the various saloons.
This she did each night, as though she were constantly on the search for some one; and, though no other of her sex dare go amid the wild set of men to be seen there, she showed no fear, and was welcomed whenever she appeared.
“Buffalo Bill, I am glad to see you back; did you call me?” she asked, coming forward, the crowd giving way for her, while many shouted:
“Yes, make Panther Kate stakeholder!”
“Kate’s the gal fer ter hold ther dust!”