Turning again to the box she rummaged to the bottom and there in a
corner she came upon a little box of cartridges. A single glance
assured her that they were intended for the weapon she had thrust
inside the band of her riding breeches, and slipping them into
her pocket she turned once more for an examination of the baffling
likeness of herself that she held in her hand.
As she stood thus in vain endeavor to fathom this inexplicable
mystery the sound of voices broke upon her ears. Instantly she was
all alert. They were coming closer! A second later she recognized
the lurid profanity of the Swede. Malbihn, her persecutor,
was returning! Meriem ran quickly to the opening of the tent and
looked out. It was too late! She was fairly cornered! The white
man and three of his black henchmen were coming straight across
the clearing toward the tent. What was she to do? She slipped the
photograph into her waist. Quickly she slipped a cartridge into
each of the chambers of the revolver. Then she backed toward the
end of the tent, keeping the entrance covered by her weapon.
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