"At least, thank God, I am not afraid of you, Bruce Standing!... Big brute and bully and ... Yes!... Coward!" And yet, as never before in her life, her heart was beating wildly, leaping against her side like an imprisoned thing struggling to break through the walls which shut it in. His fingers were still locked about her wrist; his grip tightened; he drew her closer in order to look the more clearly into her eyes. Then his slow, mocking laughter smote across her nerves like a rude hand brushing across harp-strings, making clashing discords. "You begin well!" he jeered at her. "We are going to see how you end." "Let me go!" She jerked back; she twisted and dragged at her wrist, trying wildly to break free. His mockery stung her into desperation. With her one free hand she struck him across the face. She struck hard, with all her might, with trebled strength through her fury. And, maddening her, he gave no sign that she had hurt him. Still jeering at her, all that he did was drop his rifle, so that with his other hand he could take captive the hand which had struck him. And then it was so easy a thing for him to take both her wrists into the grip of his one, right hand; held thus, no matter how she fought, hers was the sensation of utter powerlessness which is a child's when an elder person, teasing, catches its two hands in one and lets it cry and kick.... Suddenly she grew quiet.... "Well?" she demanded, panting, forcing her eyes to a steady meeting with his. "What do you intend to do with me, now you've got me? There doesn't appear to be any one near to keep you from woman-beating!" "What am I going to do with you? If I knew, I'd tell you! When I do know, I'll show you.... If I could catch you by the hair and drag you through hell after me.... I pay all of my debts, girl! I have followed you; I have found you; I have taken you, prying you loose from your running mate.... You thought it fun to laugh at me once, did you? Before I have done with you, you would give your soul for the power and the will to laugh...." "It is because I laughed at you?" she asked wonderingly. "For what else?" he said sternly. "And not because of a pistol shot?" "Less for that than for the other. I allow it any man's privilege to shoot at me if he doesn't like me; but no man's nor woman's privilege to laugh." "How do you know it was I who shot you?... Did you see?" "Had I seen, I should not have held it against you; for that would have meant that you struck in the open, any man's or woman's right! But to shoot a man in the back.... Here; help me!" She was perplexed to know what he meant. He dragged her after him, a dozen paces from the fire; still holding her two hands caught in his one, he sat down upon a big stone. Suddenly it struck her that all this time, since he had dropped his rifle, his left arm had been hanging limply at his side.