“No, he did not,” said the girl, shortly and contemptuously.
“So you’d say; so you’d say, of course.” He chuckled again. “There wasn’t no one could read that Basco writin’. But he done writ it. Now, you tell old Jim what that writin’ says, and then you and old Jim will find that gold.” 223
Solange suddenly laughed, bitterly. “Tell you? Why yes, I’ll tell you. It said——”
“Yes, ma’am! It said——”
He was slaveringly eager as he stepped toward her.
“It said—to my mother—that she should seek out the man who killed him and take vengeance on him!”
Jim reeled back, cringing and mouthing. “Said—said what? You’re lyin’. It didn’t say it!”
“I have told you what it said. Now, stand aside and let me get into my tent!”
With supreme contempt, she walked up to him as though she would push him aside. It was a fatal mistake, though she nearly succeeded. The gibbering, cracked old fiend shrank, peering fearfully, away from her blazing eyes and the black halo, rimmed with flashing color, of her hair. For a moment it seemed that he would yield in terror and give her passage.
But terror gave place suddenly to crazy rage. With an outburst of bloodcurdling curses, he flung himself upon her. She thought to avoid him, but he was as quick as a cat and as wiry and strong as a terrier. Before she could leap aside, his claw-like hands were tangled in her coat and he was dragging her to him. She fought.