“I'll drag you!”
He seized her, but could not hold her. Breaking away, she screamed.
“Help!”
That whitened his face, drove him to frenzy. Leaping forward, he struck her a hard blow across the mouth. It staggered her, and, tripping on a saddle, she fell. His hands flew to her throat, ready to choke her. But she lay still and held her tongue. Then he dragged her to her feet.
“Hurry now—grab that pack—an' follow me.” Again Riggs laid hold of the two saddles. A desperate gleam, baleful and vainglorious, flashed over his face. He was living his one great adventure.
The girl's eyes dilated. They looked beyond him. Her lips opened.
“Scream again an' I'll kill you!” he cried, hoarsely and swiftly. The very opening of her lips had terrified Riggs.
“Reckon one scream was enough,” spoke a voice, slow, but without the drawl, easy and cool, yet incalculable in some terrible sense.
Riggs wheeled with inarticulate cry. Wilson stood a few paces off, with his gun half leveled, low down. His face seemed as usual, only his eyes held a quivering, light intensity, like boiling molten silver.
“Girl, what made thet blood on your mouth?”