"Use the hilt, not the blade, unless you wish to die." He heard me above the clamor, and with a quick turn of the weapon struck fiercely at a scowling brave who grasped at his horse's rein.
He smiled pleasantly across at me, his fingers twisting his small mustache.
"'T is doubtless good advice, friend Wayland," he said, carelessly, "but these copper-colored devils are indeed most annoying upon this side, and I may lose my temper ere we reach the gate." "For the sake of her who rides between us, I beg that you hold in hard, Monsieur," I answered.

"'T would be overmuch to pay, I imagine, for a hot brain." I glanced at her as I spoke, scarcely conscious even then that I had removed my eyes from the threatening mob that pressed me, though I know I must have done so, for I retain the picture of her yet.

She rode facing me, although her saddle was of the old army type with merely a folded blanket to soften its sharp contours, and her foot could barely find firm support within the narrow strap above the wooden stirrup.
She sat erect and easily, swaying gently to the slow step of the horse.
Her face was pale, but there was no evidence of timidity in her dark eyes, and she smiled at me as our glances met.
"You are surely a brave girl, Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed, unable to restrain my admiration.

"'T is a scene to try any nerves." "Yet almost worth the danger," she returned softly, "to realize what men can be in such stress of need.

You are the real--Beware of that half-breed, Monsieur!" Her last words were a quick warning, yet my eyes were already upon the fellow, and as he dodged down, knife in hand, to aim a vicious lunge at the forward leg of her horse, I brought the stock of my rifle crunching against his shoulder.