“Stay!” he said. “I know you. You need not change your garb. You are the white man who arrested the arm of Captain Jack last night. You are the deadliest enemy I have on earth. Let us settle the old score now, and settle it forever.”
“We will!” cried Baltimore Bob, and, as he wheeled, he drew a revolver. “You shot me once for the love of ’Reesa South. Men don’t always kill at fifty paces; but at this distance, ’Van Harris, I am a death-shot, with the revolver. Yes, we’ll settle the old score, and settle it forever.”
With the last word the shining hammer shot back with the fateful clicks that follow such movement, and the would-be-murderer raised his arm.
But, simultaneously with the latter movement, Evan Harris’ right hand shot upward, then forward, and closed on a revolver!
“Who threw him that weapon!” demanded Baltimore Bob, forgetting, in his anger, that he was at the mercy of his foe.
His eye swept the red group as he spoke, but not a lip answered him.
“I’m your equal now, Rafe Todd,” cried the young ranger’s voice. “Come, let us finish this business.”
“I will not!” cried the renegade—“not now, at least,” and then he turned to the Modoc chief.
“Mouseh, you threw him that firearm. You lie if you say you didn’t. You hate me for—I don’t know what. Step out here. Don’t act the coward’s part. I’ll fight you fair.”
The next moment Captain Jack snatched a revolver from Hooker Jim’s hands, and boldly confronted the painted white man.