“Wait a moment,” he said, hoarsely. “I can’t part from you like this, Sadie. You don’t know what you are doing or what will happen if you don’t use me more kindly. By—I beg your pardon, but I am half mad—I can’t stand it. Do you know that I worship the ground you tread for your sake, and would give my life at any moment if it would be of service to you?” “You must not speak to me in that way, Mr. Jackwood,” she said, in a more gentle tone. “I am truly sorry for you if you speak the truth, but I can not listen to you. Aside from the fact that my father does not like you, I have my own inclinations to consult, and I do not and never can love you.” “Then you love some one else,” he cried savagely. “All right; marry him if you dare, but of this be assured—the moment you stand up before the minister with _any_ man, if it were my own brother, I will kill you both where you stand. Do you hear me?—I will kill you both.” “Do you dare to threaten me in that way, Will Jackwood? Oh, if my father were here, he would teach you to insult his daughter in that way. Do you think to frighten me by idle threats? Since you force me to say it, know that the sight of your dark face is and always has been odious to me, and that I will never speak to you again except upon compulsion under any circumstances.” He caught her by the wrist with his disengaged hand and held her firmly, when she dropped the pail and struck him full in the face with her open hand. He uttered a cry like that of an angry tiger, and letting go his hold upon the gun caught her about the waist with his strong right arm. Powerless in his grasp, she struggled with all her strength and screamed for help. The call was not made in vain, for a quick step was heard, and a heavy body crashed through the bushes, and Sadie screamed again. “Comin’, by the mortal, comin’!” roared a hoarse voice. “Oh, yes.” Will Jackwood released her instantly and caught up his gun, just as a short, thick-set, powerfully-built man darted from the bushes and stood beside them. He wore the fringed hunting-shirt and beaded moccasins of the scout and hunter, and his long, flax-colored hair was crowned by a greasy coon-skin cap in the last stages of dissolution. The face was a marvel of native ugliness, but in spite of that he was greeted with a cry of joy from Sadie. “Cooney Joe is hyar,” he yelled. “What is the matter now?” “I have been insulted, Joe,” cried Sadie, panting for breath. “By that yer p’ison critter, I’ll bet. Now look out, Black Will, acause I’m a-goin’ to give yer the durndest lickin’ you ever got sence yer mammy took ye over her knee. Hyar’s fur ye.”