ment, and she drew close to him and peered up into his hot face.
She showed her white blood in her complexion and light-gray eyes, but there was frank animalism in her steady stare that made Lander nervous and caused her to laugh scornfully. Darting to Bridger she placed a small foot in the stirrup and lifted herself erect and maintained her balance by seizing his shaggy brown hair.
Bridger's gaze was as cold as hers was volcanic. Her insolence changed to something akin to admiration and she tugged his hair playfully.
"Phinny's squaw!" exclaimed Bridger, seizing her wrists and forcing her to release her grasp.
She fought like a fury, trying to reach his face with her fingers. With a grunt of disgust he picked her up in his arms and tossed her over his horse's head and into her father's arms.
With a scream of rage she pulled a dirk and came at him, her teeth bare, her eyes blazing. He made no move until her arm went back for the blow; then he caught her wrist and gave it a wrench that brought a howl of pain to her red lips. Turning toward Deschamps he sternly ordered: "Take this hell-cat away."
Deschamps shrugged his shoulders, showing
