DANIELS AND DONALD MEET
"I reckon yer got me," he said, the words sounding odd in the silence. Donald stood in the doorway, his face like that of a statue, the black muzzle of a revolver covering the mountaineer. It was all so swift, so unexpected, that, for the instant, we stood there rigid, actually gasping for breath. I recall the intense hatred in Daniels's eyes, actually turning them black with passion; Jean's attitude of startled amazement; and the almost expressionless countenance of the guerilla chief. He alone seemed cool, self-possessed, and capable of action. His lips smiled.
"I hardly understand the nature of this little gathering," he said slowly, "and it may be I am not welcome, but I am glad to see you. Bill Daniels, and I advise you to keep those hands up until I say otherwise. Jean, what are you doing here? What is the meaning of all this?"
These questions aroused her instantly, the color flooding back into her cheeks. Her first feeling was evidently that of indignation.
"I refuse to answer," she exclaimed, standing erect before him, "until you lower that revolver. Daniels is unarmed, and here to meet me upon a mission of peace."
Donald's face pictured his surprise, but he made no attempt to question her word. I saw his eyes wander from her face to that of the mountaineer; then he shoved the gun back into his belt, and leaned his shoulder against the door.
"Very well, little girl," his tone carelessly good humored. "I have n't exactly the same degree of confi-
[ 317 ]
