"That's the state of affairs, and the sooner you hand over those
particular papers, Billie, the quicker this revolver play ends. Where
are they?"

"I haven't any," the slightly tremulous note had gone out of the voice.
It was firm with purpose now, even a bit sarcastic. "You've merely got
on the wrong trail, Yank. I reckon you mistook me for Billie Hardy."

"I reckon I did," I returned, mocking him, "and I 'm still satisfied
I've got the right party. You don't get out that easy, son; come
now, produce."

"Suppose I don't."

"Then there won't be much argument," I returned sharply, beginning to
lose patience. "I'll simply take them, if I have to shoot you first.
Come now, which shall it be?"

He straightened up, convinced apparently of my intentions.

"Neither, Mr. Yankee," indignantly. "I told you once you were mistaken.
Now I'll prove it--see here!" The soft hat was whipped off the head, and
the slender figure leaned forward to where the slight gleam of the stars
rendered the face visible. "Do you make war on women?"

I was too astounded for reply; dumfounded, dazed by this evidence of my
stupidity. This was a woman beyond all doubt--her hair, released by the
sudden removal of the hat, swept in a dark wave over her shoulders, and
she flung it back with a movement of the hand. The gleam of the stars
gave me the contour of her face, and the sparkle of her eyes. A woman,