Not once did I feel the need of giving her word of encouragement--even as I glanced toward her it was to perceive the gleam of a pistol gripped in her hand.

She was of the old French fighting stock, which never fails.
My eyes softened as I gazed at her, her head held proudly erect, every nerve alert, her eyes steadfast and clear.

Against the log wall a few yards away, Kirby strained at his blanket bonds, and had at last succeeded in lifting himself up far enough so as to stare about the room.

There was none of the ordinary calm of the gambler about the fellow now--all the pitiless hate, and love of revenge which belonged to his wild Indian blood blazed in his eyes.

He glared at me in sudden, impotent rage.
"You think you've got me, do you ?" he cried, scowling across; then an ugly grin distorted his thin lips.