"If you have anything to say to me, say it," she ordered. "I shot you, you scoundrel, and you know it. I'll shoot you again, too—and you'd better know that. What do you want?"
"You—you got my—my"
"Say it," she exclaimed, as he hesitated, "say what you have on your mind, if you dare! Don't talk about any trifling, no-account thing. Say what you are really thinking. If you dare, say it."
Gost wet his lips. He had suffered much as a result of his previous encounter with this young woman. He knew, as the other spectators surmised, that she would shoot him where he stood, like a dog—and they would approve of it, because she was a tall, angry, and good-looking girl. He had not counted on this reception. He had expected the girl to be afraid, and keep out of his way, and give him a chance to get his bearings and renew old alliances—but nothing of the kind. He could not meet her on the grounds that she had chosen.
"Just for your satisfaction," she smiled, relaxing her indignant poise, "just to let you know what's what, the business that brought you here is ended. I haven't possession of what you are after. Not at all. I knew you would never rest till you learned about them. I threw them overboard—every one!"
"You—you" he began.
