He glared at me in
sudden, impotent rage.
"You think you've got me, do you?" he cried, scowling across; then an
ugly grin distorted his thin lips. "Not yet you haven't, you soldier
dog. I've got some cards left to play in this game, you young fool.
What did you butt in for anyway? This was none of your affair. Damn
you, Knox, do you know who she is? I mean that white-faced chit over
there--do you know who she is? You think you are going to get her away
from me? Well, you are not--she's my wife; do you hear?--my wife!
I've got the papers, damn you! She's mine!--mine; and I am going to
have her long after you're dead--yes, and the whole damn Beaucaire
property with her. By God! you talk about fighting--why there are
fifty Indians out there. Wait till they find out what has happened to
me. Oh, I'll watch you die at the stake, you sneaking white cur, and
spit in your face!"
"Kirby," I said sternly, but quietly, stepping directly across toward
him, "I've heard what you said, and that is enough. You are a
prisoner, and helpless, but I am going to tell you now to hold your
tongue. Otherwise you will never see me at the stake, because I shall
blow your brains out where you lie. One more word, and I am going to
rid this world of its lowest specimen of a human being."
"You dare not do--"
"And why not? You promise me death either way; what have I to lose
then by sending you first? It will rid the girl of you, and that means
something to me--and her.
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