But it was not some one else he must fight now; it was the girl herself. She had heard stories about him. That was the trouble. Well, some of them were true enough, but they had nothing to do with the present. What was past was past. He had done nothing but defend his rights. Once she was his, he would defend her rights too. The thing to do first was to get her. There was just one way to accomplish this if she wouldn’t come; that was to bring her. He could not carry her before a minister against her will, but he could fetch her up here. He could keep her here one night and then--she would go to the minister quickly enough after that. Bud’s breath came faster as he planned. His face hardened around the mouth, but it grew mellow about the eyes. To have her here--to have her here! It was something to grow breathless about just to picture her--say in that chair over yonder. She might tear at him with her little fingers; she might cry, but even so she would be here. She would be part of this room; part of his life. He would no longer be alone. Then, lifting his hectic eyes, Bud caught sight of the sprig of laurel in the bottle on the table. It was like a bit of her--like her in a tender mood, a pleading mood. He rose and paced the room, his gaunt shadow following him silently. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t mean for to hurt her. He was going to marry her all right and proper, and she’d be glad as soon as she got used to him. He’d give her everything she wanted; plenty of new dresses and money and candy. He’d go down to the village with her and let her buy all the new furniture she wanted. He’d let her keep the house clean and he would wipe the mud off’n his feet when he came in. He’d aim to please her every way she wanted. In a little while she’d get used to him. So Bud planned, and the sooner his plans were carried out the better. There wasn’t any sense in keeping her riled up or in keeping himself riled up. To-morrow night was as good as any. No sense in keeping riled up. CHAPTER IV It was little Tom Culley, weasel-faced and dirty, who, for a pint of moonshine whiskey offered by Bud, took to Roxie at the Howe bungalow one night the lying message that her mother was sick and the summons to come home at once. For the previous three days Bud had waited from dusk until dark only to be forced back over the trail to Big Laurel Cove disappointed and alone. The girl had not come out.