ds
raised in appealing defense. Joe put up his open hand as if to check
Isom in his assault.

"Hold on, Isom; don't you hit me," he said.

Whatever Isom's intention had been, he contained himself. He stopped,
facing Joe, who did not yield an inch.

"Hit you, you whelp!" said Isom, his lips flattened back from his teeth.
"I'll do more than hit you. You--" He turned on Ollie: "I saw you.
You've disgraced me! I'll break every bone in your body! I'll throw you
to the hogs!"

"If you'll hold on a minute and listen to reason, Isom, you'll find
there's nothing at all like you think there is," said Joe. "You're
making a mistake that you may be sorry for."

"Mistake!" repeated Isom bitterly, as if his quick-rising rage had sunk
again and left him suddenly weak. "Yes, the mistake I made was when
I took you in to save you from the poorhouse and give you a home. I
go away for a day and come back to find you two clamped in each
other's arms so close together I couldn't shove a hand between you.
Mistake----"

"That's not so, Isom," Joe protested indignantly.

"Heaven and hell, didn't I see you!" roared Isom. "There's law for you
two if I want to take it on you, but what's the punishment of the law
for what you've done on me? Law! No, by God! I'll make my own law for
this case. I'll kill both of you if I'm spared to draw breath five
minutes more!"

Isom lifted his long arm in witness of his terrible intention, and cast
his glaring eyes about the room as if in search of a weapon to begin his
work.

"I tell you, Isom, nothing wrong ever passed between me and your wife,"
insisted Joe earnestly. "You're making a terrible mistake."

Ollie, shrinking against the wall, looked imploringly at Joe. He had
promised never to tell Isom what he knew, but how was he to save himself
now without betraying her? Was he man enough to face it out and bear the
strain, rush upon old Isom and stop him in his mad intention, or would
he weaken and tell all he knew, here at the very first test of his
strength? She could not read his intention in his face, but his eyes
were frowning under his gathered brows as he watched every move that old
Isom made. He was leaning forward a little, his arms were raised, like a
wrestler waiting for the clinch.

Isom's face was as gray as ashes that have lain through many a rain. He
stood where he had stopped at Joe's warning, and now was pulling up his
sleeves as if to begin his bloody work.

"You two conspired