They were approaching the snag, and the desperado was about to order the prisoner to be thrown into the water, when the boatmen were suddenly thrust aside, and Minneoba, holding her bow in her hand, darted forward and leveled an arrow at his breast. “Look, white man,” she cried, “Minneoba is the daughter of Black-Hawk, and she can not lie; if you do harm to the good white man, I will send an arrow through your heart.” “Why, you cat!” hissed Dick Garrett, turning upon her with a devilish look. “Stand out of the way.” But Minneoba would not obey him. It was the second time she had found her arrow effective, and it had some influence upon the man who “would have peace or a fight.” Although full of mad hate, he knew that she could aim an arrow well, for he had seen her skill tested in the Indian towns. “What in the devil’s name made me bring this cat on board?” he uttered. “Better far have left her behind to find her way to the village as best she could. Look you, Minneoba,” he added aloud. “You know that I would not willingly do you a wrong, but you must get out of the way.” “No,” replied Minneoba, stamping her foot. “Minneoba will not move, and if Garrett does wrong to the good white man, he shall die.” “Now, my girl, be careful, please; I’ll have to take measures you won’t like if you don’t get out of the way.” “Minneoba will shoot,” replied the girl, with flashing eyes, still pointing the arrow at his breast. Garrett nodded to one of his men, and while the leader expostulated with her he stole behind and suddenly caught her by the arm in a firm clasp. With a cry of anger the girl caught the arrow in her disengaged hand and drove it through the arm of her captor, who released her with an oath, but before she could strike again, Garrett had her in his arms. “Now then, lads!” he cried. “I’ll hold this beauty fast, and if she struggles I’ll take toll from her lips.” “Cease to struggle, Minneoba,” said Mr. Wescott. “You only expose yourself to new indignity without the chance of aiding me. I am ready to meet my fate, although it is a hard one, but it grieves me to think that I die by the hands of white men. Sadie, farewell—farewell, my dear child. All that I have is yours and your dear mother’s. Thank God that she at least was absent when this blow fell.” “I can not see you die,” she sobbed. “Oh, Richard Garrett, will nothing move you to do right?” “That depends on what you call _right_. Now you don’t think it right to beat a man at the picturs or billiards or to pick his pocket, or crack a bank. Now I do, so we won’t seem to agree, no matter how you fix it, so I guess we may as well end this now. Toss him over, boys.” “It don’t seem scarcely right,” said the rough young fellow who was helping Sadie back. “Why not duck him, and then let him out, boss?” “Because he knows I wear an Injin disguise. It’s all very well for you that he don’t know, but I ain’t so easy suited. Toss him over, I say, and make no words.”