"I listen, my elder brother," said the little maid of Askalege.
"You shall take a trade-rifle, move out one hundred paces to the west, and halt all who come. And fire on any who refuse to halt."
"I listen," she said coolly.
"You shall call to us if you need us."
"I continue to listen."
"And if there comes a wagon, then you shall take the horses by the head and lead them this way until the fire shines on their heads. Go, little sister."
She took a trade-rifle from the stack, primed it freshly, and crossed the circle on light, swift feet.
When she had gone into the darkness, I bade de Golyer kick the fire. He did so and it blazed ruddy, painting in sanguine colour the sombre, unhealthy visage of my prisoner.
"Search him," said I briefly.
Joe and my Oneida rummaged him to the buff. It was in his boots they discovered, at last, a sheaf of papers.