"He may have a revolver!" As she spoke,
she sank back on the pillows, feeling suddenly limp and powerless, as she
lay drowned in the long waves of hair that flowed round her like
moonlight.
"The little sneak won't get to draw it if he has," said the tall man, in a
tone so quiet that Angela was struck with surprise. It seemed wonderful
that one who had just fought as he had could have kept control of breath
and head. His voice did not even sound excited, though here was
trembling. "Don't be scared," he went on. "The mean galoot! A prairie-dog
could tear him to pieces."
"I'm not frightened--now," she answered. "Oh, thank you for coming. You've
saved my life. Can't I help? I might go to the telephone and call----"
"No. Do nothing of the sort," her neighbour commanded. "There must be no
ructions in your room. I'm going to take this thing to my quarters. The
story'll be, he was getting into my window when I waked up and nabbed
him."
"Oh!" exclaimed Angela, roused to understanding and appreciation. "For me,
that would be good--but for you----"
"For me, it's all right, too. And you don't come on in this act, lady."
"He'll tell," she said.
"I guess not. Not unless he's in a hurry to see what it's like down where
he goes next.
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