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for defiling my name! … He'd kill Y'U for your dirty insult… . And I'd
like to watch him do it… . Y'u cold-blooded Texan! Y'u thieving rustler!
Y'u liar! … Y'u lied aboot my father's death. And I know why. Y'u stole
my father's gold… . An' now y'u want me— y'u expect me to fall into
your arms… . My Heaven! cain't y'u tell a decent woman? Was your
mother decent? Was your sister decent? … Bah! I'm appealing to deafness. But y'u'll HEAH this, Jim Colter! … I'm not what yu think I am! I'm
not the—the damned hussy y'u liars have made me out… . I'm a Jorth,
alas! I've no home, no relatives, no friends! I've been forced to live my
life with rustlers —vile men like y'u an' Daggs an' the rest of your like… .
But I've been good! Do y'u heah that? … I AM good—so help me God,
y'u an' all your rottenness cain't make me bad!"
Colter lounged to his tall height and the laxity of the man vanished.
Vanished also was Jean Isbel's suspended icy dread, the cold clogging
of his fevered mind—vanished in a white, living, leaping flame.
Silently he drew his knife and lay there watching with the eyes of a
wildcat. The instant Colter stepped far enough over toward the edge of
the loft Jean meant to bound erect and plunge down upon him. But Jean
could wait now. Colter had a gun at his hip. He must never have a
chance to draw it.
"Ahuh! So y'u wish Jean Isbel would hop in heah, do y'u?" queried
Colter. "Wal, if I had any pity on y'u, that's done for it."
A sweep of his long arm, so swift Ellen had no time to move, brought
his hand in clutching contact with her. And the force of it flung her half
across the cabin room, leaving the sleeve of her blouse in his grasp. Pantingly she put out that bared arm and her other to ward him off as he
took long, slow strides toward her.
Jean rose half to his feet, dragged by almost ungovernable passion to
risk all on one leap. But the distance was too great. Colter, blind as he
was to all outward things, would hear, would see in time to make Jean's
effort futile. Shaking like a leaf, Jean sank back, eye again to the crack
between the rafters.
219
Ellen did not retreat, nor scream, nor move. Every line of her body was
instinct with fight, and the magnificent blaze of her eyes would have
checked a less callous brute.
Colter's big hand darted between Ellen's arms and fastened in the
front of her blouse. He did not try to hold her or draw her close. The unleashed passion of the man required violence. In one savage pull he tore
off her blouse, exposing her white, rounded shoulders and heaving bosom, where instantly a wave of red burned upward.
Overcome by the tremendous violence and spirit of the rustler, Ellen
sank to her knees, with blanched face and dilating eyes, trying with folded arms and trembling hand to hide her nudity.
At that moment the rapid beat of hoofs on the hard trail outside halted
Colter in his tracks.
"Hell!" he exclaimed. "An' who's that?" With a fierce action he flung
the remnants of Ellen's blouse in her face and turned to leap out the
door.
Jean saw Ellen catch the blouse and try to wrap it around her, while
she sagged against the wall and stared at the door. The hoof beats pounded to a solid thumping halt just outside.
"Jim—thar's hell to pay!" rasped out a panting voice.
"Wal, Springer, I reckon I wished y'u'd paid it without spoilin' my
deals," retorted Colter, cool and sharp.
"Deals? Ha! Y'u'll be forgettin'—your lady lovein a minnit," replied
Springer. "When I catch—my breath."
"Where's Somers?" demanded Colter.
"I reckon he's all shot up—if my eyes didn't fool me."
"Where is he?" yelled Colter.
"Jim—he's layin' up in the bushes round thet bluff. I didn't wait to see
how he was hurt. But he shore stopped some lead. An' he flopped like a
chicken with its—haid cut off."
"Where's Antonio?"
"He run like the greaser he is," declared Springer, disgustedly.
"Ahuh! An' where's Queen?" queried Colter, after a significant pause.
"Dead!"
The silence ensuing was fraught with a suspense that held Jean in cold
bonds. He saw the girl below rise from her knees, one hand holding the
220
blouse to her breast, the other extended, and with strange, repressed, almost frantic look she swayed toward the door.
"Wal, talk," ordered Colter, harshly.
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