Cateras, smiling,
pressed her arm with his fingers.
"This way, _senorita_."
"Wait," and her eyes met his, showing no sign of fear. "You take me, I
presume, to Senor Mendez?"
"Of what need?" in surprise. "He has already placed me in charge."
"Yet without hearing a word as to why I am here," indignantly. "I am
an American woman, and you will yet pay dearly for this outrage. I
demand an interview with the chief, and refuse to go with you until it
is granted."
"You refuse! Ha!" and he burst into laughter. "Why, what power have
you got, you little fool? Do you know where you are? What fear do we
have of your damn Americanos. None!" and he snapped his fingers
derisively. "We spit on the dogs. I will show you--come!"
He gripped her shoulder in his lean hand, his eyes glaring into her
face savagely. The grasp hurt, and a sudden anger spurred her to
action. With a quick twist she freed herself, and, scarcely knowing
how it was done, snatched the heavy driver's whip from Moore's hand.
The next instant, before the astounded Mexican could even throw up an
arm in defence, the infuriated girl struck, the stinging lash raising a
red welt across the swarthy cheek.
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