He came back again that minute, carrying a small table on which was an enamel mug of water, a loaf of bread, some fried bacon congealing on a cracked plate, and a hunk of butter wrapped in a scrap of newspaper. Her chance of springing on him unawares was gone now, for he kept the table between them all the time. "Make yoreself at home," he invited. "Sorry I cain't stay an' wait on yuh jest naow, but yew're supposed ter be dead. The boss might think et kind o' queer ef I stayed grubbin' 'round these hyar cellars, an' it don't pay ter git the boss's goat. But I'll see yuh later--don't yew worry!" His foul leer struck a qualm of terror into her heart, but she faced him boldly. "I don't worry," she said acidly. "What's your name?" "Mecklen--but yew kin call me Lew, honey." "Well, Mecklen, I've heard of you. You've killed a good many people in your time--have you ever wondered what it's like to die?" He lounged against the wall, grinning. "Huh--yew li'l' cougar! So yew're gonna make ole Lew pass in his cheques, air yew? Gee, baby, I'll say yew got sand!" "Oh, no, I'm not going to kill you," said Susan. "But I'll tell you the name of someone who will. Ever met Captain Arden, the man they call _Storm_? He's out hunting you by this time, Mecklen, and d'you know what he'll do to you when he gets you? He did it to a man outside Valparaiso once--a man rather like you, Mecklen--staked him out and flogged him to death with a stock-whip! How does that appeal to you? And he'll get you, Mecklen--there's no hole and corner on God's earth you can hide in where he won't find you one day. Storm never gives up! Think it over." There was no idle threat or bravado in her tone. She stated the facts simply and cold-bloodedly, so that the smooth venom behind them would have stabbed horror into the soul of most men. But Mecklen's imagination was that of the untamed brute--he had to feel the lash before he could flinch from a sight of it. "Storm!" he scoffed. "I'll tell yuh something. That sheik o' yores'll eat his breakfast right in this hyar shack. Now think thet over!" And then with a cat-like spring he rounded the table and caught her in his arms in a bear's hug. His fetid breath stung her nostrils, and, before she could move, her lips had tasted the gross contact of his mouth. He jumped back, breathing heavily, one fist stuck out in front of him. "Keep off," he warned. "Thet war jest something ter go 'long wit. I'll kiss yuh--properly--later. See yuh again soon, honey. Yew'll larn ter like ole Lew--he ain't no amachoor!"