The other horse, ridden by the mulatto girl, was forced in between us.
"Who are ye ?" she questioned, wonderingly.

"Ye just called her by name, an' ye must know her.

Whut ye goin' fer ter do with us, sah ?" I looked up toward her face, without distinguishing its outlines.

I felt this was no time to explain; that every moment lost was of value.
"Never mind now; I know who she is and that you are Elsie Clark.

We are your friends." "No he ain't--not thet other man; he ain't no friend o' mine.