Buffalo Bill had covered Banks, Hendricks had covered Buffalo Bill, and now Dell was looking at Hendricks over a diamond-sight.
“Who the blazes are ye, up there on the hill?” shouted Hendricks, seeking to temporize.
“All you need to know is that I’ve got the drop,” cried Dell sharply. “You heard what I said about dropping that revolver. I’m not going to repeat the order.”
“Ye’re a woman, by ther sound o’ yer voice,” shouted Hendricks, who did not dare remove his eyes from the scout, any more than the scout dared take his from Banks, “an’ I reckon ye daren’t shoot at——”
The thirty-eight spoke, and the report was followed by a ring of lead against steel.
Dell’s shot had struck the barrel of Hendricks’ revolver close to the cylinder, knocking the weapon out of the man’s hand.
A startled yell broke from Hendricks, followed quickly by the cool voice of the girl:
“Disarm your man, Buffalo Bill; I’ve disarmed Hendricks, and he’s not able to interfere.”
“Come closer, Banks,” said the scout. “You don’t want to force me to take your miserable life, do you? This trigger works on a hair.”