"Pick up and hand me that gun," she said, pointing to
it. "When you have done so, I will allow you to come up."
The cross-eyed one looked sadly astonished, but as he
did not know the moment when the bear might give up
chasing his worthy comrade to give him a turn, he did as
he was bid. The rifle would be of no use to the girl,
anyhow, and, besides, her father and the others must have
heard the shot and would be on their way back to see what
the matter was. It would therefore be as well to comply
with her request and try to explain that their seemingly
ungrateful conduct had only been the outcome of their
innate playfulness. If they had erred it was in carrying
a joke a trifle too far.
As soon as Dorothy found herself in possession of the
rifle she knew that she was safe. She even laid the pole
flat on the roof, allowing one end of it to project a
foot or so beyond it so as to aid the cross-eyed one in
his unwonted gymnastic feat. In a few moments the
discomfited villain stood on the roof in front of her.
Dorothy lowered the lever of the Winchester so that he
could see it and pumped another cartridge into the barrel.
The half-breed realised the extent of his folly, but saw
it was too late to do anything.
"Now stand over in that far corner," said the girl to
him, "or I will shoot you."
But the cross-eyed one was humility itself, and protested
that he could not for all the gold in the bed of the
Saskatchewan have lifted a finger to do the dear young
Mam'selle any harm.
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