One raised a hatchet-like
implement, and would have brained the Englishman had not Christobal
whipped out his revolver and shot him through the body, releasing the
girl's wrist in his flurry. The Indian pitched headlong down the
stairs, falling limply at Elsie's feet. She stooped over the
terrifying figure and seized the man's weapon. Her eyes shone with a
strange light. She felt her arms tingle. A wonderful power seemed to
flow through her body, like a gush of strong wine. She was assured
that she, unaided, could beat down all the puny, despicable creatures
who barred the path to her lover. She vaulted over the writhing form
of the Alaculof, and made to climb the stairs, but Christobal,
admirably cool, fired again and brought another Indian to his knees.
The second Indian's fall caused Frascuelo to trip; and the Chilean,
locked rib to rib with a somewhat sturdy opponent, rolled into the
saloon. Elsie drew back just in time, or the two men would have
knocked her down. Even as they were turning over on the steep steps
she saw Frascuelo's knife seek that favorite junction of neck and
collar-bone which Christobal had said was so well understood by those
of his ilk.
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