s bottle. "Auction her off, that's what I say!
I'll give a bottle of whiskey for her; hey, Brodie?"

Brodie had laughed when Jarrold spoke; he laughed now. But he looked to
Jarrold and not Benny as he spoke; he extended his great hands, the
fingers crooked, curving slowly inward, like steel hooks.

"I can eat you alive, and you know it, Steve," he mocked. "What's more,
_she_ knows it! That's what she wants; she's picked me, Steve! That's
just her way of letting you down easy; she don't aim to hurt your
feelings. Will you come on and take a fall for her? Or is the lady mine?
What's the word? Speak up, man!"

Gloria saw that Jarrold, though he sent a black, scowling look at the
bigger man, was afraid. And yet they must fight--they must be driven to
blows--she must somehow set them at each others' throats. It was so hard
to think at all! Yet she could think forward to one occurrence only that
could give her respite and a frail chance for freedom: if they would
only fight as, in some dim instinctive way, it was given her to
understand that such men would fight once a wrathful blow had been given
and taken--if the others would only watch them and not her, if she could
come to one of the rifles--or outside----

She turned to Jarrold. She gathered herself for the final supreme
effort. She made her eyes grow bright through sheer force of will; she
made her lips cease trembling and curve to a smile at the man; she even
concealed her loathing and put a ringing note, almost of laughter, into
her voice as she said softly:

"I know you are not afraid--and I think--yes, I am sure, that you could
whip him!"

Steve Jarrold's eyes flashed. Then they left hers lingeringly; Brodie
was stamping impatiently, calling to him.

"Take her!" snapped Jarrold. "Hell take both of you."

The laughter and challenge went out of Swen Brodie's bloodshot eyes; a
new red surged all of a sudden into them. He turned and came slowly
about the fire, his arms still uplifted, the crooking fingers toward
Gloria.

_Chapter XXX_

Scream after scream burst from Gloria's lips; taut nerves seemed to snap
all through her body like over-stressed violin strings. She ran, ran
anywhere, ran blindly. She ran into Benny, who clutched at her; she fled
away from him, back toward the darker end of the cave. The low rumble of
a man's laughter answered her; drunken laughter from Brodie. Whether
drunk with whiskey or with gold or with lust did not matter; drun