it from him
so that it broke noisily. A few times she heard them laugh; she could
distinguish Brodie's throaty, bull tone and Benny's nervous cackle.
Jarrold did not appear made for mirth, and him she feared most of all;
yes, even more than Brodie, whom she had seen do murder, and Benny who,
she knew, had done murder. Brail and the Italian said little; they were
men to follow where other men led. She fancied that several times Steve
Jarrold's little eyes left the bottle, the faces of his companions, and
even the pile of gold to quest for her face in the dark.

"Come here," commanded Brodie.

She started. He was calling to her! She got up and moved forward slowly.
It was obey or be dragged to him. In the pale light by the fire,
standing so that the blaze was between the five men and herself, she
stopped. Until now she had been very white; suddenly she knew that her
face must be flooded with bright red; she could feel the burn of it.
The eyes of the men seemed veritably to disregard her clothes, to make
her feel another Lady Godiva.

"Gratton's, then King's, then Gratton's again?" Brodie chuckled. "I
don't care whose before Gratton's the first time; but whose after
Gratton's the last time, that's it! Who are you for, Bright-Eyes? Me or
Steve?"

"No!" she cried, her hands at her breast. "No! I am not like that! I was
not Gratton's; I am ... I am Mark King's wife!"

"So?" admitted Brodie good-humouredly. "Well, that cuts no ice; it's
open and shut you'd gone back to Gratton. Now, come over here. Closer."

"I won't," she shuddered. "You don't dare make me! I ... Oh, won't you
let me go? You have your gold there; you have gold and whiskey; you
don't want me...."

"Whiskey, gold, and women," muttered Brodie. "They go together fine. And
quit that little schoolgirl dodge; you make me sick. If you wasn't what
you are, you wouldn't be where you are. Come over here and give us a
kiss." He jerked from his pocket a dull lump, one of the smaller, richer
nuggets. "I'm no pincher; come across and I'll give you a whole handful
of gold!" His tone was playful.

But Jarrold cut in less playfully:

"Leave her alone, Brodie," he advised. "She don't cotton to you, and,
what's more, whose gold is it, anyhow? We ain't divided yet. And
she.... Well, if she belongs to anybody, she's mine!"

"So?" Brodie's monosyllable was expressionless. "Well, I was asking
_her_. And she ain't answered yet."

Fast as the girl's heart beat, her thoug