in on her like prison walls.

Not for an instant did she deceive herself. Houck did not mean to take
her to Tolliver. She knew that his conscience would acquit him of blame
for what he meant to do. He had given her a chance to marry him, and she
had made it impossible. That was not his fault. He would take her to
Brown's Park with him when he returned. Probably they were on the way
there now.

After the plunging broncos had steadied down, Jake spoke. "You're well
shet of him. He's no good, like he said himself. A man's got to have
guts. You'd 'a' had to wear the breeches, June." The long whip curved out
inexorably. "Git over there, Buckskin."

Houck drove like a master. After one wild bolt the dancing ponies had
sensed that a strong hand was at the reins. They accepted the fact
placidly. June watched his handling of the lines sullenly, a dull
resentment and horror in her heart. He would subdue her as easily as he
had the half-broken colts, sometimes bullying, sometimes mocking,
sometimes making love to her with barbaric ardor. There were times when
his strength and ruthlessness had fascinated June, but just now she felt
only horror weighted by a dull, dead despair.

No use to fight longer. In a world filled with Jake Houck there was no
free will. She was helpless as a wolf in a trap.

They drove through a country of sagebrush hills. The moon came out and
carpeted the slopes with silver lace. Deep within June was a born love of
beauty as it found expression in this land of the Rockies. But to-night
she did not taste the scent of the sage or see the veil of mist that had
transformed the draws magically to fairy dells.

"Where you goin'?" she asked at last. "You said you'd take me to Dad."

He laughed, slipped a strong arm round her shoulders, and drew her
closer. "Found yore tongue at last, June girl, eh? We're going home--to
my place up in Brown's Park."

She made a perfunctory protest. It was, she knew, quite useless, and her
heart was not in it. No words she used, no appeal she could make, would
touch this man or change his intentions.

"You got no right to take me there. I'm not yore slave. I want to go to
Dad."

"Tha's right," he mocked. "I'm _yore_ slave, June. What's the use of
fighting? I'm so set on you that one way or another I'm bound to have
you."

She bit her lip, to keep from weeping. In the silvery night, alone with
him, miles from any other human being, she felt woefully helpless and
forlorn.