“What are you going to do with me?”
Bess waited with bated breath for West’s reply. For a full moment he walked on as if he had not heard. Then he said undecisively, “The boys in camp shall decide.”
“Look here, West, this a damned mean way to treat any man. I demand that you release me—you cowardly Indian!”
The Indian walked taciturnly on, swiftly, steadily. As he neared the glowing fire, its ruddy light painted his face as red as a warrior’s. Several of the irons were still sticking in the fire where the boys had forgotten them as they hastened from the storm. Mauchacho shied when he passed the fire with its irons, as if the sting of their torture was still fresh in his mind.
“Say West—this has gone far enough. Besides—I—Miss Fletcher accompanied me into that cabin—because she wished to—freely—”
But before he could utter another single word of the cowardly lie, West sprang at him and dragged him from the horse. Grasping the rope firmly he drew the resisting man directly toward the fire and flung him mercilessly to the ground. With one hand he snatched a red-hot iron from the fire; with the other he tore open the man’s shirt and despite the restraining hold of a woman’s hand upon his arm he seared the bared breast with the scorching brand!
“You dog,” he roared, “read that burning brand! Know that HW means Honor Women! Honor! Learn if you can what it means! When again you try to destroy a woman’s life—let your fingers seek this everlasting seal; and for God’s sake, if not your own and her’s, let the purport of the brand restrain you!”
Without another word he loosened the man, placed him again in the saddle and turned the horse’s head toward the east where already a great, round moon lighted the way. West gave the horse a cut with the quirt and soon horse and man were out of sight.
In an unconscious heap upon the ground lay Bess, where she had fallen as the smoke from the burning flesh filled her nostrils.