arried her into the rude interior. There he
set her on a chair. Cookie was busy at a stove frying ham and eggs, with
coffee simmering.

"You'd better sit up and eat nicely, my dear," said Plimsoll as he
unbound her. "You'll have to sooner or later, you know. No sense in
being stubborn."

She said nothing but he saw a gleam in her eyes as she glanced toward
the table where Hahn was setting out plates and cutlery.

"You'll eat with a fork, Molly," said Plimsoll. "Those steel knives are
too handy for you. There's a nasty look in those blue eyes of yours that
will have to be tamed--have to be tamed," he repeated as he took a
demijohn from a corner and poured out a liquor that sent the reek of its
raw strength sickeningly through the cabin. "Here's to your health,
Molly--Molly Mine!"

The others laughed and drank their share before they ate the food that
Cookie placed before them, talking louder, growing flushed with the
crude whisky, while Molly sat facing the door, striving to catch
something that might help, might give some clue. But the talk was all of
the brawl at the Waterline with contemptuous mention of Wyatt and the
rest. They seemed by common consent to ignore her once she had refused
the food.

This attitude weakened her resistance though she strove against it. She
had nerved herself to meet action. Now she seemed to count for little
more than a bundle, of more or less value, that, having been secured,
could wait its time for utility. Yet, before she had telescoped her
vision to extend through and beyond Plimsoll, she had seen devils
looking from his eyes, smug devils, but none the less menacing, risen
from the man's own private hell pit.

Plimsoll looked at his watch.

"The horses should be showing up pretty soon," he said and rose, a
little unsteadily. The effects of the liquor were patent on all of them.
"Butch, you and Hahn go down with Cookie and keep 'em down at the south
end. Get 'em to turn the horses loose. And get them out of the place as
soon as you can after they've eaten. Better take what stuff you want,
Cookie."

"I suppose you'd be jealous if we stuck around," said Butch, leering now
at Molly. The whisky seemed to have been an acid test for his features,
dissolving all that was not brutal. Hahn's cold sneering face was none
the less evil.

"How long do you want us to give you, Plim?" asked the dealer. "No sense
in our sticking round here that I can see."

"We've got to get the boys out