The catastrophe seemed complete.
She had barely time to utter an imploring whisper: "In the name of God, not a word to him." But a change had already come over her companion.

It was no longer a parley with a foolish woman; he had to deal with a man like himself.

As Low's dark face and picturesque figure came nearer, Mr.
Curson's proposed method of dealing with him was made audible.
"Ith it a mulatto or a Thircuth, or both ?" he asked, with affected anxiety.
Low's Indian phlegm was impervious to such assault.

He turned to Teresa, without apparently noticing her companion.

"I turned back," he said quietly, "as soon as I knew there were strangers here; I thought you might need me." She noticed for the first time that, in addition to his rifle, he carried a revolver and hunting knife in his belt.
"Yeth," returned Curson, with an ineffectual attempt to imitate Low's phlegm; "but ath I didn't happen to be a sthranger to this lady, perhaps it wathn't nethethary, particularly ath I had two friends--" "Waiting at the edge of the wood with a led horse," interrupted Low, without addressing him, but apparently continuing his explanation to Teresa.