It was as though he had struck her in the face. The eyes that clung to his we're horror-filled. Did there really live men so heartless that they would not lift a hand to snatch a child from a ferocious wolf?
West's laughter barked out, rapacious and savage. "She's mine, jus' like I said she'd be. My damn pretty li'l' high-steppin' squaw."
His partner looked at him bleakly. "Oh, she's yours, is she?"
"You bet yore boots. I'll show her—make her eat outa my hand," boasted the convict.
"Will you show McRae too—and all his friends, as well as the
North-West Mounted? Will you make 'em all eat out of your hands?"
"Whadjamean?"
"Why, I had a notion you were loaded up with trouble and didn't need to hunt more," sneered the gambler. "I had a notion the red-coats were on your heels to take you across the plains to hang you."
"I'll learn 'em about that," the huge fugitive bragged. "They say I'm a killer. Let it ride. I'll sure enough let 'em see they're good guessers."
Whaley shrugged his shoulders and looked at him with cold contempt.
"You've got a bare chance for a getaway if you travel light and fast.
I'd want long odds to back it," he said coolly.
"Tha's a heluva thing to tell a friend," West snarled.