LAHOMA

by John Breckenridge Ellis




CHAPTER I
THE TOUCH OF A CHILD


"I have given my word of honor--my sacred oath--not to betray what
I have discovered here."

At these words from the prisoner, a shout arose in which oaths and
mocking laughter mingled like the growling and snapping of hunger-
maddened wolves.

"Then if I must die," Gledware cried, his voice, in its shrill
excitement, dominating the ferocious insults of the ruffians, "don't
kill the child--you see she is asleep--and she's so young--only
five. Even if she were awake, she wouldn't know how to tell about
this cabin. For God's sake, don't kill the little girl!"

Since the seizure of Gledware, the child had been lying on the rude
table in the midst of a greasy pack of cards--cards that had been
thrown down at the sound of his galloping horse. The table
supported, also, much of the booty captured from the wagon-train,
while on the dirt floor beside it were prizes of the freebooting
expedition, too large to find resting-place on the boards. Nor was