dez's shoulder, and buried itself in a log, quivering
from the force of impact. With a yell of derision, his hands still
bound, the desperate fugitive cast himself head-first through the
opening. Without aim, scarcely aware of what she did, the girl flung
up her weapon and fired. With revolver yet smoking she rushed forward
to look without. Rolling over and over on the ground, his face covered
with blood, Mendez was seeking to round the corner of the cabin, to get
beyond range. Again she pulled the trigger, the powder smoke blowing
back into her face, and blinding her. When she could see once more, he
was gone, but men were leaping out through the door of the bunk-house,
shouting in excitement.

One of these caught sight of her, and fired, the bullet chugging into
the end of a log, so closely it caught a strand of her hair, but,
before another shot could follow, she had seized the shutter, and
closed the opening, driving the latch fast with the revolver butt. She
was cool enough now, every nerve on edge, realising fully the danger of
their position. All the blood of a fighting race surged through her
veins, and she was conscious of no fear, only of a wild exultation, a
strange desire to win. As she turned she faced Cavendish, only vaguely
visible in the twilight caused by the closed window. He was still
seated on the floor, his expression betraying bewilderment.

"Are you hurt?"

"No--not--not much. He knocked all the wind out of me. I--I'm all
right now."

"Get up then! There's fighting enough ahead to make you forget that.
What happened?"

"He--he kicked me, I guess. I--I don't exactly know. I heard you go
past us into that other room, and--and just turned my head to see. The
next I knew I was on the floor, so damned sick--I beg your pardon--I
thought I was going to faint. Did I get him with the knife?"

"No, it's over there, and I am afraid I didn't touch him either; it was
all so sudden I got no aim. Do you hear those voices? There must be a
dozen of the band outside already."

He looked up at her, his glance almost vacant, and she could but
perceive how his chin shook.

"What shall we do?"

"Do!" she gripped his shoulder. "Are you a man and ask that? We will
fight! Did you imagine I would ever surrender myself into the hands of
that devil, after what has happened? I would rather die; yes, I will
die before he ever puts hand on me. And what about you, Mr. Cavendish?
Are you going