The man felt the vibration of her impulse and cringed. He was in a daze before this violence of attack, where he had expected only supine yielding. In his creed, the beating of women marked manliness. The drabs he had caressed crept and fawned under his blows, like whipped curs. He could not realize this challenge by the girl with his own method of might. But he saw clearly enough through the haze of fear that the blue barrel was trained exactly upon him, that the slim hand held it rigid, and he knew that, in this instant, he was very, very close to death. The red of his face changed to a mottled purple. He felt himself trembling.

Plutina perceived the abject terror of the man. It mitigated her wrath with scorn, and so saved him for the moment. She cried out to him fiercely, her voice rough with abhorrence.

"To the gate fer yer answer, ye cowardly houn'. Move quick, er I'll drap ye in yer tracks, ye murderin' wolf. Do as I say!"

She moved another step toward him. Her voice rose shrill: "Drap thet rifle-gun!"

The weapon slipped from Hodges' nerveless fingers, and fell on the turf with a soft thud.

"Put up yer han's!"

Cowed, the man thrust his long arms to their length above his head.

"Now, turn round, an' march to the gate!"

There was no faltering in the obedience.

The hulking bully knew that he was in mortal peril. For his life's sake, he dared neither word nor gesture of resistance to the girl's will. His only hope was that the hidden ally might somehow come to his aid. But the hope was feeble. He knew the other's craven spirit.

Plutina, too, knew it. As she drove her captive to the gate, she peered, and saw the crouching figure still in the shadows behind the bush. The Colt's cracked. Even as Hodges shuddered, imagining the tearing of the bullet through his own flesh, there came a shriek of pain from beyond him. The hidden man leaped forth, his right arm dangling clumsily. He scrambled into the cover of the spruces and vanished. The noises of his flight lessened, died.

"I've scotched a snake," Plutina said, malignantly. "Hit's about time to kill the dawg, I reckon. Turn round." Then, when he had obeyed, she went on speaking. "Now, hyar at the gate, I'll tell ye somethin'. You-all 'lowed ye could git me with money. If ye had all they is in the world, hit wouldn't be enough. An' ye thought I tuk money fer reportin' the still. Wall, I didn't. I reported thet-thar still o' your'n kase I seed ye a-settin' b'ar-traps fer humans, an' hit made me hate ye even wuss 'n I done hated ye afore."




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