"Oh, he's a liar!" exclaimed Bo, with contemptuous ring in her voice. "He comes from my country. He has known Nell and me for years."Snake Anson turned to look at Wilson.
"Jim, now hyar's a queer deal this feller has rung in on us.
I thought thet kid was pretty young. Don't you remember Beasley told us Nell Rayner was a handsome woman?""Wal, pard Anson, if this heah gurl ain't handsome my eyes have gone pore," drawled Wilson.
"A-huh! So your Texas chilvaree over the ladies is some operatin'," retorted Anson, with fine sarcasm. "But thet ain't tellin' me what you think?""Wal, I ain't tellin' you what I think yet. But I know thet kid ain't Nell Rayner. For I've seen her."Anson studied his right-hand man for a moment, then, taking out his tobacco-pouch, he sat himself down upon a stone and proceeded leisurely to roll a cigarette. He put it between his thin lips and apparently forgot to light it. For a few moments he gazed at the yellow ground and some scant sage-brush. Riggs took to pacing up and down. Wilson leaned as before against the cedar. The girl slowly recovered from her excess of anger.
"Kid, see hyar," said Anson, addressing the girl; "if Riggs knowed you wasn't Nell an' fetched you along anyhow -- what 'd he do thet fur?""He chased me -- caught me. Then he saw some one after us and he hurried to your camp. He was afraid -- the cur!"Riggs heard her reply, for he turned a malignant glance upon her.
"Anson, I fetched her because I know Nell Rayner will give up anythin' on earth for her," he said, in loud voice.
Anson pondered this statement with an air of considering its apparent sincerity.
"Don't you believe him," declared Bo Rayner, bluntly. "He's a liar. He's double-crossing Beasley and all of you."Riggs raised a shaking hand to clench it at her. "Keep still or it 'll be the worse for you.""Riggs, shut up yourself," put in Anson, as he leisurely rose. "Mebbe it 'ain't occurred to you thet she might have some talk interestin' to me. An' I'm runnin' this hyar camp.
. . . Now, kid, talk up an' say what you like.""I said he was double-crossing you all," replied the girl, instantly. "Why, I'm surprised you'd be caught in his company! My uncle Al and my sweetheart Carmichael and my friend Dale -- they've all told me what Western men are, even down to outlaws, robbers, cutthroat rascals like you.
And I know the West well enough now to be sure that four-flush doesn't belong here and can't last here. He went to Dodge City once and when he came back he made a bluff at being a bad man. He was a swaggering, bragging, drinking gun-fighter. He talked of the men he'd shot, of the fights he'd had. He dressed like some of those gun-throwing gamblers. . . . He was in love with my sister Nell. She hated him. He followed us out West and he has hung on our actions like a sneaking Indian. Why, Nell and I couldn't even walk to the store in the village. He rode after me out on the range -- chased me. . . . For that Carmichael called Riggs's bluff down in Turner's saloon. Dared him to draw!
Cussed him every name on the range! Slapped and beat and kicked him! Drove him out of Pine! . . . And now, whatever he has said to Beasley or you, it's a dead sure bet he's playing his own game. That's to get hold of Nell, and if not her -- then me! . . . Oh, I'm out of breath -- and I'm out of names to call him. If I talked forever -- I'd never be --able to -- do him justice. But lend me -- a gun -- a minute!"Jim Wilson's quiet form vibrated with a start. Anson with his admiring smile pulled his gun and, taking a couple of steps forward, held it out butt first. She stretched eagerly for it and he jerked it away.
"Hold on there!" yelled Riggs, in alarm.
"Damme, Jim, if she didn't mean bizness!" exclaimed the outlaw.
"Wal, now -- see heah, Miss. Would you bore him -- if you hed a gun?" inquired Wilson, with curious interest. There was more of respect in his demeanor than admiration.
"No. I don't want his cowardly blood on my hands," replied the girl. "But I'd make him dance -- I'd make him run.""Shore you can handle a gun?"
She nodded her answer while her eyes flashed hate and her resolute lips twitched.
Then Wilson made a singularly swift motion and his gun was pitched butt first to within a foot of her hand. She snatched it up, cocked it, aimed it, all before Anson could move. But he yelled:
"Drop thet gun, you little devil!"
Riggs turned ghastly as the big blue gun lined on him. He also yelled, but that yell was different from Anson's.
"Run or dance!" cried the girl.
The big gun boomed and leaped almost out of her hand. She took both hands, and called derisively as she fired again.
The second bullet hit at Riggs's feet, scattering the dust and fragments of stone all over him. He bounded here --there -- then darted for the rocks. A third time the heavy gun spoke and this bullet must have ticked Riggs, for he let out a hoarse bawl and leaped sheer for the protection of a rock.
"Plug him! Shoot off a leg!" yelled Snake Anson, whooping and stamping, as Riggs got out of sight.
Jim Wilson watched the whole performance with the same quietness that had characterized his manner toward the girl.
Then, as Riggs disappeared, Wilson stepped forward and took the gun from the girl's trembling hands. She was whiter than ever, but still resolute and defiant. Wilson took a glance over in the direction Riggs had hidden and then proceeded to reload the gun. Snake Anson's roar of laughter ceased rather suddenly.
"Hyar, Jim, she might have held up the whole gang with thet gun," he protested.
"I reckon she 'ain't nothin' ag'in' us," replied Wilson.
"A-huh! You know a lot about wimmen now, don't you? But thet did my heart good. Jim, what 'n earth would you have did if thet 'd been you instead of Riggs?"The query seemed important and amazing. Wilson pondered.
