One quick wrench of her body and she was free. Her right hand popped on Bill’s cheek, and red welts sprang out on his dark skin. She stood poised, her hands clenched--like a young lioness. “Dolly!” Bill’s tone was like a cry. “What happened?” She stared at him. The blaze went out of her eyes. Her bosom heaved. The poised tensity went out of her body. “Nothing, nothing,” she said, in a tone tremulous like a frightened child’s. “Munson an’ Jed fought, an’ your dad got scared an’ lit out. Jed beat him. After _he_ come back an’ shot Jed through a window. That was yesterday. He took me down to his place. I got away in the evenin’. I saw the light here an’ I was afraid to come in till I saw you leave this morning. I didn’t know who it was. If you’d only stayed home, Bill!” Young Bill put his arms around her. “’S all right, Dolly,” he murmured. “I didn’t know. You said--you know, you said----” “Bill,” she lifted her face. “Don’t you know me yet, at all? Take me away from here--take me away.” Bill patted her shoulder. Her face was buried against his breast. He put one hand on her forehead and tilted her head back--and kissed her. “You killed him?” he whispered. “I did,” she gritted. “I’ve carried that knife you made for me for six months. I jabbed it into him the first time he tried to lay his hands on me. Will they hang me, Bill?” “Hang you! Good Lord!” Young Bill threw back his head and laughed--the first time Charlie had ever heard him laugh like that, a laugh of sheer relief and happiness. “They ought to give you a medal. Go get your clothes together, Dolly. We’re goin’ away from here for good, you an’ me together.” [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 7, 1927 issue of _The Popular Magazine_]