Beside, it is nice to shoot a white man.

I should like it better," he went on, with a smack of the lips, "if it were missie, who set the dog on me.

I would----" In a moment Muller had seized the astonished ruffian by the throat, and was kicking and shaking him as though he were a toy.

His brutal talk of Bessie appealed to such manliness as he had in him, and, whatever his own wickedness may have been, he was too madly in love with the woman to let her name be taken in vain by a man whom, though he held his "magic" in superstitious reverence, he yet ranked lower than a dog.

With his nerves strung to the highest possible state of tension, and half drunk as he was, Frank Muller was no more to be played with or irritated than is a mad bull.
"You black beast!" he yelled, "if ever you dare to mention her name again like that I will kill you, for all your witchcraft;" and he hurled him with such force against the wall of the hut that the whole place shook.