He laughed bitterly and ran a hand over his sleek hair. "If I go, you go with me," he said evenly. "Leave this house," the girl commanded, but instead of obeying he moved toward her again menacingly, a disgusting smile on his lips. He passed the end of the davenport and she, in turn, retreated to the far side. "When I go, two of--" "I take it that you heard what was said to you, sir." At the sound of the intruding voice Hilton wheeled sharply. He faced Tom Beck, who stood in the doorway, framed against the black night, arms limp and rather awkwardly hanging at his sides, eyes dangerously luminous; still, playing across them was that half amused look, as though this were not in reality so serious a matter. For an interval there was no sound except Hilton's breathing: a sort of hoarse gasp. The two men eyed each other and Jane, supporting her suddenly weakened limbs by a hand on the table, looked from one to the other. "What the devil are you doing here?" Dick asked heavily. "Just standin' quiet, waiting to open the gate for you when you ride out." The Easterner braced his shoulders backward and sniffed. "And if I don't choose to ride out? What will you do then?" Beck looked at Jane slowly and his eyes danced. "It ain't necessary to talk about things that won't happen. You're going to go." "Who the hell are you to be so certain?" "My name's Beck, sir. I'm just workin' here." "And playing the role of a protector?" "Well, nothing much ever comes up that I don't _try_ to do." Hilton made as if to speak again but checked himself, walked down the room in long strides, seized his coat, thrust his arms into the sleeves viciously and stood buttoning the garment. Beck looked away into the night as though nothing within interested him and Jane stood clutching the locket at her throat, caressing it with her slim, nervous fingers. "Under the circumstances, making my farewells must be to the point," Hilton said. He spoke sharply, belligerently. "I have just this to say: I am not through." "Oh, go!" moaned Jane, dropping into a chair and covering her face with her hands. She heard the men leave the veranda, heard a gruff, low word from Hilton and knew that he went on alone. After the outer gate had closed she heard Tom walk slowly up the path toward the bunk house. He had left her without comment, without any attempt at an expression of concern or sympathy. She knew it was no oversight, but only a delicacy which would not have been shown by many men. Her loathing was gone, her anger dead; the near past was a numb memory and she looked up and about the room as though it were a strange place. There, within those walls, she had experienced the rebirth, she had felt ambition to stand alone come into full being, she had shaken off the fetters with which the past had sought to hamper her....