“So you accede to my terms?” she said. “I am to pass out?”
At Tom Terror’s command, the Indians drew sullenly back, and Myra with a light cry of triumph sprung toward the opening. As she reached Deadly Dan she heard him say:
“Go straight to Custer, girl. I’ll kill the man that touches you.”
Myra started at such words in such a place, but did not pause. She was eager to get beyond the flashing eyes that regarded her, beyond the strings of the Thugs.
But alas! for such hopes and expectations.
All at once something was seen to whirl around an Indian’s head, and Deadly Dan with a mad oath sprung forward to prevent the fatal throw.
Caught by the swift messenger of death, Myra stopped, and reeled, at the same time dropping the rifle.
The Canyon Spider uttered a cry of delight.
“Ha! ha! strung, my beauty. Thet’s the kind o’ tarms I give the she wolves, pard.”
But Deadly Dan did not hear his comrade, for he had leaped forward, and prevented Myra from falling to the earth.
“Back! you infernal stranglers,” thundered the Wolf, as he turned upon them, a heavy revolver cocked in his right hand. “Stand where you are with your hands on your cords, but draw one if you dare. This creature doesn’t deserve your strings. From this moment she is mine. Deadly Dan is her protector, and he’s going to make her the wife of the greatest gold-bug in the States.”
The Thugs of Cut-throat, almost consumed with rage, were cowed by Deadly Dan and his revolver.
“Make ’er what you please, pard,” said Tom Terror, breaking the silence. “Thar mustn’t be any hard lines betwixt us. The big bonanza ain’t found yet, an’ she ain’t the gold-bug’s wife. I call my red wolves off. Now, bring the gal up to the fire.”
The Indians obeyed their leader, but looked daggers at the man who had cowed them.
“You will pardon me, Tom,” Dan said, coming forward. “This is a prize a fellow doesn’t draw every day. Permit me to present to you the future wife of Rosebud Dan, the future money king of the States.”
Tom Terror grinned as, despite his wound, he bent down to gaze into the finely chiseled face that Dan had lowered into the mellow firelight.
“Purty as a picter!” he ejaculated. “But what’s that on her right temple, Dan? Didn’t you say that a little mole shaped like a bean--”