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CHAPTER XIII. A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE

AT THE sound of the harsh voices so close upon her Barbara Harding was

galvanized into instant action. Springing to Byrne's side she whipped Theriere's

revolver from his belt, where it reposed about the fallen mucker's hips, and with

it turned like a tigress upon the youth.

Quick!" she cried. "Tell them to go back--that I shall kill you if they come closer."

The boy shrank back in terror before the fiery eyes and menacing attitude of the

white girl, and then with the terror that animated him ringing plainly in his voice

he screamed to his henchmen to halt.

Relieved for a moment at least from immediate danger Barbara Harding turned

her attention toward the two unconscious men at her feet. From appearances it

seemed that either might breathe his last at any moment, and as she looked at

Theriere a wave of compassion swept over her, and the tears welled to her eyes;

yet it was to the mucker that she first ministered--why, she could not for the life

of her have explained.

She dashed cold water from the spring upon his face. She bathed his wrists, and

washed his wounds, tearing strips from her skirt to bandage the horrid gash

upon his breast in an effort to stanch the flow of lifeblood that welled forth with

the man's every breath.

And at last she was rewarded by seeing the flow of blood quelled and signs of

returning consciousness appear. The mucker opened his eyes. Close above him

bent the radiant vision of Barbara Harding's face. Upon his fevered forehead he

felt the soothing strokes of her cool, soft hand. He closed his eyes again to battle

with the effeminate realization that he enjoyed this strange, new sensation--the

sensation of being ministered to by a gentle woman--and, perish the thought, by

a gentlewoman!

With an effort he raised himself to one elbow, scowling at her.

"Gwan," he said; "I ain't no boob dude. Cut out de mush. Lemme be. Beat it!"

Hurt, more than she would have cared to admit, Barbara Harding turned away

from her ungrateful and ungracious patient, to repeat her ministrations to the

Frenchman. The mucker read in her expression something of the wound his

words had inflicted, and he lay thinking upon the matter for some time, watching

her deft, white fingers as they worked over the scarce breathing Theriere.

101

The Mucker