ill under forty, heavy-set, bones packed with heavy muscles. It
seemed to her that all the power of her vital youth vanished and left
only limp and flaccid weakness. He snatched her close and kissed the
dusky eyes, the soft cheeks, the colorful lips....

She became aware that he was holding her from him, listening. There
was a crash of wood.

Again her call for help rang out.

Whaley flung her from him. He crouched, every nerve and muscle tense,
lips drawn back in a snarl. She saw that in his hand there was a
revolver.

Against the door a heavy weight was hurled. The wood burst into
splinters as the bolt shot from the socket. Drunkenly a man plunged
across the threshold, staggering from the impact of the shock.

CHAPTER XVIII

A GUN ROARS

The two men glared at each other, silently, their faces distorted to
gargoyles in the leaping and uncertain light. Wary, vigilant, tense,
they faced each other as might jungle tigers waiting for the best
moment to attack.

There was a chance for the situation to adjust itself without
bloodshed. Whaley could not afford to kill and Morse had no desire to
force his hand.

Jessie's fear outran her judgment. She saw the menace of the revolver
trained on her rescuer and thought the gambler was about to fire. She
leaped for the weapon, and so precipitated what she dreaded.

The gun roared. A bullet flew past Morse and buried itself in a log.
Next instant, clinging with both hands to Whaley's wrist, Jessie found
herself being tossed to and fro as the man struggled to free his arm.
Flung at a tangent against the wall, she fell at the foot of the couch
where Fergus slept.

Again the blaze and roar of the revolver filled the room. Morse
plunged head down at his enemy, still carrying the log he had used as
a battering-ram. It caught the gambler at that point of the stomach
known as the solar plexus. Whaley went down and out of consciousness
like an ox that has been pole-axed.

Tom picked up the revolver and dropped it into the pocket of his fur
coat. He stooped to make sure that his foe was beyond the power of
doing damage. Then he lifted Jessie from the corner where she lay
huddled.

"Hurt?" he asked.

The girl shuddered. "No. Is he--is he killed?"

"Wind knocked out of him. Nothing more."

"He didn't hit you?"

There was the ghost of a smile in his eyes. "No, I hit him."

"He was horrid. I--I--" Again a little shiver ran through her body.
She felt very weak at