as the time Mormon manhandled you." She saw the blue snakes crawl
on his purpling skin, and she kept her eyes on them though her mental
vision was on the holster beneath his vest. She deliberately taunted him
to provoke him to an uncalculated move. Molly knew her own litheness,
her strength. If she could get inside his arms, if even to endure a
moment of his beastly embrace and could get a grip on the gun?

But there was something in Plimsoll that delighted in playing with a
victim he felt sure of. It soothed his broken vanity.

"So," he said, "I'm going to get even with Sandy and with Mormon and
that bow-legged fool Sam Manning who call you the Mascot of the Three
Star, all at once; while I get even with you. And get what should have
been mine at the same time. We'll have you tucked away while we mail the
letter that will bring your ransom. Never mind the details of handling
the money. I'll attend to that. But we'll bleed you dry. The price of
all your stock and that of the three suckers at the Three Star at
par--and all they can borrow on the ranch--that will be the price for
you, my lady. With three days to deliver in."

"You talk like a crazy man, or a drunken one. They can't sell the stock
in that time. And if you lay a finger on me they'll trail you to hell,
Jim Plimsoll, and the devil himself won't stop them from skinning you
alive."

Plimsoll shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes flickered and, for a
second, his cowardly soul shrank.

"I'll look out for that," he said. "If you are delivered back to them as
damaged goods they'll never know it till you tell them. Maybe you won't
be over-anxious to do that." His eyes grew moody, his manner sullen. He
was passing into another alcoholic phase. Molly sensed imminent danger.

"I'll take those kisses now," he cried and lunged for her, catching her
about the waist as she rose from the chair. "And more to boot," he added
thickly as he drew her to him, one hand at the back of her head, fingers
twining in her hair, twisting her face forward, upward. She had both
arms inside of his, her hands on his chest. With all her strength she
strained and pushed away, her right hand slid up to the holster,
groping.

The gun was not there. Plimsoll had reloaded it during the meal and left
it on the table. His breath sickened her. She got her arm clear and
struck him viciously on the mouth, breaking the lips against his teeth.
Fighting like a cave-woman, she scored his cheek with n