“Back!” she cried, sternly; “fall back, I say! I would not have your blood upon my hands, but for my honor’s sake I would kill a hundred such men and think I had done the world good service. Put up your hands! If you try to draw a weapon I will kill you. Up; higher still!” The ruffian hesitated, but, as she was about to fire, he raised his hands quickly at their full stretch and she advanced with the revolver pointed at his heart and her finger on the trigger and took his revolvers from his belt and dropped them on the sod. His knife and hatchet followed and she stepped back a little, still transfixing him with her eyes. “Fall back a little,” she said. “But, Miss—” “Fall back! I will not bid you three times before I fire.” He stepped back about six paces, when she again called him to a halt and advancing, picked up the weapons he had dropped and hurled them down a deep ravine close at hand. The weapons of the Indian followed, rifle and all, and the two were weaponless and at the mercy of a girl. “You have made a slight mistake in the character of the woman with whom you are dealing, my good sir,” she said. “Send that Indian away; he is not so badly wounded but he can walk.” “What ar’ ye goin’ to do?” “Obey my orders; I am not here to answer questions.” “You kin go back to camp, Anatole,” said Velveteens, “but don’t you say any thing about this yer or I’ll kill ye when I come back; now ye hear me.” The Indian staggered to his feet and hurried away down the mountain path. “I won’t forgit this yer, gal,” said Velveteens, in a tone of deadly menace, “you may be right sure of that.” “I don’t mean that you shall, sir,” she answered, calmly. “There is the antelope I have killed which I wish to have carried home. Pick it up and go in front.” “Do you think I’m a pack-mule?” he roared, angrily. “Your ears are long enough and your skull does not want in thickness, but it is not proof against a bullet, as you will find if you do not obey me at once,” was the answer. “Do not waste any time, sir, I have none to lose.” Groaning in spirit but seeing no way out of his dilemma, the scoundrel picked up the carcass of the antelope and led the way down the hill, while Myrtle followed closely, holding her revolver ready. Once or twice he was tempted to drop his load and take the chances of a bullet, but when he remembered the fall of Anatole he dared not attempt it. Yet his pride as a mountaineer was touched to the quick, and he treasured up the malice of his heart. “I’ll git even with you yit, my gal,” he thought. “Who’d hev thought she’d turn on a man with shootin’-irons? Thunder! I dassent show my head in camp ef this yer is found out.” It was nearly an hour’s walk to the cabin, but she would neither suffer him to pause nor lay down his load. At last they went down the path into the valley and he dropped his burden at the door.