"And give you a show to snatch that six-shooter and blow a hole through me, as you did to the Sheriff of Calaveras, eh?
Not if this court understands itself," said the first speaker dryly.
"Go to the devil, then," she said curtly.
"Not before a lady," responded the other.

There was another laugh from the men, the spurs jingled again, the three torches reappeared from behind the tree, and then passed away in the darkness.
For a time silence and immutability possessed the woods; the great trunks loomed upwards, their fallen brothers stretched their slow length into obscurity.

The sound of breathing again became audible; the shape reappeared in the aisle, and recommenced its mystic dance.
Presently it was lost in the shadow of the largest tree, and to the sound of breathing succeeded a grating and scratching of bark.
Suddenly, as if riven by lightning, a flash broke from the centre of the tree-trunk, lit up the woods, and a sharp report rang through it.
After a pause the jingling of spurs and the dancing of torches were revived from the distance.
"Hallo ?" No answer.
"Who fired that shot ?" But there was no reply.

A slight veil of smoke passed away to the right, there was the spice of gunpowder in the air, but nothing more.
The torches came forward again, but this time it could be seen they were held in the hands of two men and a woman.

The woman's hands were tied at the wrist to the horse-hair reins of her mule, while a _riata_, passed around her waist and under the mule's girth, was held by one of the men, who were both armed with rifles and revolvers.