Monsieur Pete! Who is spend much money
tonight, who yesterday was br-r-oke? Monsieur Pete! Who, zen, should you
swing on ze rope?"
She waited. There was absolute silence save for the crackle of the
flaming pine-pitch torches.
"Ver' well,' 'in a low voice. "I, me, Mignon, shall answer." Again she
paused. A long way down the canyon she heard horses galloping on the
hard road. "Monsieur Pete!" she screamed, at the top of her voice.
The mob struggled forward, yelling.
"Ver' well!" she cried, snatching a silver-mounted pistol out of her
bosom. "Come on! Ze jackass, he is ke-e-ll five! I, Mignon, I ke-e-ll
five! Ten shall go to le diable before mon brave shall hang!"
They hesitated, those in front pressing back from the certain death
which awaited them. Mignon set her arms akimbo, the gun gleaming at her
hip, and taunted them in contemptuous French.
The horsemen had reached the camp and soon thundered into view. "What's
this going on, anyway?" demanded the sheriff, angrily. "Anthony Barstow
is innocent.
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