the two samurai who had guarded Barbara upon
the march turned and withdrew--she was alone with Oda Yorimoto and his
family. From the center of the room depended a swinging shelf upon which
a great pile of grinning skulls rested. At the back of the room was a
door which Barbara had not at first noticed--evidently there was another
apartment to the dwelling.

The girl was given little opportunity to examine her new prison, for
scarce had the guards withdrawn than Oda Yorimoto approached and grasped
her by the arm.

"Come!" he said, in Japanese that was sufficiently similar to modern
Nippon to be easily understood by Barbara Harding. With the word he drew
her toward a sleeping mat on a raised platform at one side of the room.

One of the women awoke at the sound of the man's voice. She looked up at
Barbara in sullen hatred--otherwise she gave no indication that she saw
anything unusual transpiring. It was as though an exquisite American
belle were a daily visitor at the Oda Yorimoto home.

"What do you want of me?" cried the frightened girl, in Japanese.

Oda Yorimoto looked at her in astonishment. Where had this white girl
learned to speak his tongue?

"I am the daimio, Oda Yorimoto," he said. "These are my wives. Now you
are one of them. Come!"

"Not yet--not here!" cried the girl clutching at a straw. "Wait. Give
me time to think. If you do not harm me my father will reward you
fabulously. Ten thousand koku he would gladly give to have me returned
to him safely."

Oda Yorimoto but shook his head.

"Twenty thousand koku!" cried the girl.

Still the daimio shook his head negatively.

"A hundred thousand--name your own price, if you will but not harm me."

"Silence!" growled the man. "What are even a million koku to me who only
know the word from the legends of my ancestors. We have no need for koku
here, and had we, my hills are full of the yellow metal which measures
its value. No! you are my woman. Come!"

"Not here! Not here!" pleaded the girl. "There is another room--away
from all these women," and she turned her eyes toward the door at the
opposite side of the chamber.

Oda Yorimoto shrugged his shoulders. That would be easier than a fight,
he argued, and so he led the girl toward the doorway that she had
indicated. Within the room all was dark, but the daimio moved as one
accustomed to the place, and as he moved through the blackness the girl
at his side felt with stealthy fingers at the man's belt