The Call of the Cumberlands

Adroitly, with a regained power of resistance and a lithe twist, she

slipped out of his grasp, hammering at his face futilely with her

clenched fists.

"I--I've got a notion ter kill ye!" she cried, brokenly. "Ef Samson

was hyar, ye wouldn't dare--" What else she might have said was shut

off in stormy, breathless gasps of humiliation and anger.

"Well," replied Tamarack, with drawling confidence, "ef Samson was

hyar, I'd show him, too--damn him! But Samson hain't hyar. He won't

never be hyar no more." His voice became deeply scornful, as he added:

"He's done cut an' run. He's down thar below, consortin' with

furriners, an' he hain't thinkin' nothin' 'bout you. You hain't good

enough fer Samson, Sally. I tells ye he's done left ye fer all time."

Sally had backed away from the man, until she stood trembling near the

hearth. As he spoke, Tamarack was slowly and step by step following her

up. In his eyes glittered the same light that one sees in those of a

cat which is watching a mouse already caught and crippled.

She half-reeled, and stood leaning against the rough stones of the

fireplace. Her head was bowed, and her bosom heaving with emotion. She

felt her knees weakening under her, and feared they would no longer

support her. But, as her cousin ended, with a laugh, she turned her

back to the wall, and stood with her downstretched hands groping

against the logs. Then, she saw the evil glint in Tamarack's blood-shot

eyes. He took one slow step forward, and held out his arms.

"Will ye come ter me?" he commanded, "or shall I come an' git ye?" The

girl's fingers at that instant fell against something cooling and

metallic. It was Samson's rifle.

With a sudden cry of restored confidence and a dangerous up-leaping of

light in her eyes, she seized and cocked it.