"You're stuck up!" the Countess declared, shortly. "Make sure of this--I'm not bluffing. I'll shoot. Here--you!" she called to one of the packers at the rear of the line who had turned and was making off. "Get back where you were and stay there." She emphasized this command with a wave of her weapon and the Indian obeyed with alacrity. "Now then, Mr. Royal, not one pound of Sam Kirby's freight will these people carry until mine is over the pass. I don't recognize you in this deal in any way. I made a bargain with the chief and I'll settle it with him. You keep out. If you don't, my men will attend to you." It was surprising what a potent effect a firearm had upon the aged shaman. His mask fell off and his knowledge of the English language was magically refreshed. He began a perfectly intelligible protest against the promiscuous display of loaded weapons, particularly in crowded localities. He was a peaceful man, the head of a peaceful people, and violence of any sort was contrary to his and their code. "This was no way in which to settle a dispute--" "You think not, eh? Well, it's my way," stormed the Countess. "I'll drop the first man who tries to pass. If you think I won't, try me. Go ahead, try me!" Mr. Royal undertook to say something more, but without turning her head the woman told Phillips, "Knock him down if he opens his mouth." "WILL I?" Pierce edged closer to his man, and in his face there was a hunger for combat which did not look promising to the object of his attentions. Lucky Broad likewise discouraged the ex-jockey by saying, "If you call her hand, Danny, I'll bust you where you're biggest." The Countess still held the muzzle of her revolver close to the chief's body. Now she said, peremptorily: "You're going to end this joke right now. Order their packs off, QUICK!" This colloquy had been short, but, brief as the delay had been, it had afforded time for newcomers to arrive. Amazed at the sight of a raging woman holding an army of red men at bay, several "mushers" dropped their burdens and came running forward to learn the meaning of it. The Countess explained rapidly, whereupon one exclaimed: "Go to it, sister!" Another agreed heartily. "When you shoot, shoot low. We'll see you through." "I don't need any assistance," she told them. "They'll keep their agreement or they'll lose their head man. Give the word, Chief." The old redskin raised his voice in expostulation, but one of the late-comers broke in upon him: "Aw, shut up, you robber! You're gettin' what you need." "I'm going to count three," the woman said, inflexibly. Her face had grown very white; her eyes were shining dangerously. "At four I shoot. One! Two--!" The wrinkled Indian gave a sign; his tribesmen began to divest themselves of their loads.