cur. He heard
Glen speak and saw Sconda dismount and disarm the miners. Last of all
he came to Curly, and when the Indian reached for his revolver, the
serpent spat at him and cursed wildly. With a marvelous restraint,
Sconda merely took the weapon from the enraged man's pocket, and then
walking over to Reynolds, swiftly cut the cords which bound him to the
tree and freed his hands.

Finding himself unbound, Reynolds cast one glance toward Glen, and saw
her looking at him with a peculiar expression in her eyes. He seemed
to read there a challenge, which could have but one meaning. He turned
to Curly, and beholding that sneer of contempt still upon his face, he
sprang forward and confronted the villain.

"I am free now," he cried, "and am able to answer your insult to the
purest woman upon earth. It is man to man, and we shall settle it
right here."

But Curly was in no mood for a fight; that was not his nature. He was
a coward at heart, though the failure of his plot made him so angry
that he was daringly reckless. With a curse he started to turn away,
but Reynolds caught him by the shoulders and swung him roughly around.

"No, you don't get off so easily," he told him. "One of us must get a
drubbing here to-night, and if you can give it to me, come on."

"Take that, then," and Curly drew off and hit him a savage blow on the
face.

It was all that Reynolds needed, and springing forward, he felled his
antagonist to the ground with a single blow. And there Curly lay, and
made no attempt to rise. He had enough, and he knew in his heart that
he was no match for the man standing over him.

"Get up," Reynolds ordered. "I'm not through with you yet."

But Curly did not move. He lay there as if dead. Reynolds did not
know what to do, for he was unwilling to inflict further punishment
upon the creature while he was down.

"Curly." It was Glen's voice, and it had an ominous note. "Get up at
once, and explain the meaning of this night's affair. Why this insult
to Mr. Reynolds?"

To this command, however, Curly paid no heed, but remained as he had
fallen. Glen's eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she tapped
impatiently with her riding-whip upon the pommel of her saddle.

"Get up," she again ordered, "or I shall hand you over to the Indians.
They will not be so considerate of you as we are."

As Curly still made no effort to rise, Glen uttered just two Indian
words to Sconda. The latter immedia