“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.