The man gave a start. “Aw, you are, hey?” he rasped out. “Wal, see hyar, stranger, curious fellars sometimes die sudden, with their boots on.”
Adam’s force gathered for swift action. Keeping a sharp gaze riveted on this man, he addressed the girl: “Little girl, what’s wrong? Are you——”
“Shet up! If you blab out I’ll slit your tongue,” yelled the fellow, whirling fiercely. No father ever spoke that way to his child. And no child ever showed such terror of her father.
“Girl, don’t be afraid. Speak!” called Adam, in a voice that rang.
“Oh, save me—save me!” she cried, wildly.
Then the man, hissing like a snake, was reaching for his gun when Adam struck him. He fell clear across the fire and, rolling over some packs, lay still. The other one, cursing, started to crawl, to reach with flour-whitened hand for a gun lying in a belt upon the sand. Adam kicked the gun away and pounced upon the man. Fiercely he yelled and struggled. Adam bore him down, burrowing his face in the sand. Then placing a ponderous knee on the back of the man’s neck, he knelt there, holding him down.
“Girl, throw me that piece of rope,” said Adam, pointing.
She shakily got up, her bare feet sinking in the sand, and, picking up the rope, she threw it to Adam. In short order he bound the man’s arms behind his back.
“Now, little girl, you can tell me what’s wrong,” said Adam, rising.
“Oh, they took me away—from mother!” she whispered.