When she had used the blue kerchief at her neck for a tourniquet and had checked the hemorrhage, he was still patiently awaiting a[pg 347] better opportunity to employ his knife. It would not do to bungle the affair. And he thought he knew how it could be properly done—if he could get her head in the crook of his muscular elbow.
"Lift me, dear ministering angel," he whispered weakly.
She stooped impulsively, hesitated, then, suddenly terrified at the blazing ferocity in his eyes, she shrank back at the same instant that his broad knife flashed in her very face.
He was on his feet at a bound, and, as she raised her voice in a startled cry for help, he plunged heavily at her, but slipped and fell in his own blood. Then the clattering jingle of spurred boots on the stone stairs below caught his ear. He was trapped, and he realized it. He slowly got to his feet.
As Smith and Glenn appeared, springing out of the low-arched door, the muleteer Braun turned and faced them.
There was a silence, then Glenn said, bitterly:
"It's you, is it, you dirty Dutchman!"
"Hands up!" said Smith quietly. "Come[pg 348] on, now; it's a case of 'Kamerad' for yours."
Braun did not move to comply with the demand. Gradually it dawned on them that the man was game.
"Maryette!" he called; "where are you?"