"Ellen, y'u've got your half-breed heah!" he said, with a terrible smile.
She neither moved nor spoke. There was a suggestion of collapse, but it was only a change where the alluring softness of her hardened into a strange, rapt glow. And in it seemed the same mastery that had characterized her former aspect. Herein the treachery of her was revealed. She had known what she meant to do in any case.
Colter, standing at the door, reached a long arm toward the ladder, where he laid his hand on a rung. Taking it away he held it palm outward for her to see the dark splotch of blood.
"See?"
"Yes, I see," she said, ringingly.
Passion wrenched him, transformed him. "All that--aboot leavin' heah--with me--aboot givin' in--was a lie!"
"No, Colter. It was the truth. I'll go--yet--now--if y'u'll spare--HIM!" She whispered the last word and made a slight movement of her hand toward the loft. "Girl!" he exploded, incredulously. "Y'u love this half-breed--this ISBEL! ... Y'u LOVE him!"
"With all my heart! ... Thank God! It has been my glory.... It might have been my salvation.... But now I'll go to hell with y'u--if y'u'll spare him."
"Damn my soul!" rasped out the rustler, as if something of respect was wrung from that sordid deep of him. "Y'u--y'u woman! ... Jorth will turn over in his grave. He'd rise out of his grave if this Isbel got y'u."
"Hurry! Hurry!" implored Ellen. "Springer may come back. I think I heard a call."
"Wal, Ellen Jorth, I'll not spare Isbel--nor y'u," he returned, with dark and meaning leer, as he turned to ascend the ladder.
Jean Isbel, too, had reached the climax of his suspense. Gathering all his muscles in a knot he prepared to leap upon Colter as he mounted the ladder. But, Ellen Jorth screamed piercingly and snatched her rifle from its resting place and, cocking it, she held it forward and low.
"COLTER!"
Her scream and his uttered name stiffened him.
"Y'u will spare Jean Isbel!" she rang out. "Drop that gun-drop it!"
"Shore, Ellen.... Easy now. Remember your temper.... I'll let Isbel off," he panted, huskily, and all his body sank quiveringly to a crouch.
"Drop your gun! Don't turn round.... Colter!--I'LL KILL Y'U!"
But even then he failed to divine the meaning and the spirit of her.
"Aw, now, Ellen," he entreated, in louder, huskier tones, and as if dragged by fatal doubt of her still, he began to turn.