leaving the sleeve of her blouse in his
grasp. Pantingly she put out that bared arm and her other to ward him
off as he took long, slow strides toward her.

Jean rose half to his feet, dragged by almost ungovernable passion to
risk all on one leap. But the distance was too great. Colter, blind
as he was to all outward things, would hear, would see in time to make
Jean's effort futile. Shaking like a leaf, Jean sank back, eye again
to the crack between the rafters.

Ellen did not retreat, nor scream, nor move. Every line of her body
was instinct with fight, and the magnificent blaze of her eyes would
have checked a less callous brute.

Colter's big hand darted between Ellen's arms and fastened in the front
of her blouse. He did not try to hold her or draw her close. The
unleashed passion of the man required violence. In one savage pull he
tore off her blouse, exposing her white, rounded shoulders and heaving
bosom, where instantly a wave of red burned upward.

Overcome by the tremendous violence and spirit of the rustler, Ellen
sank to her knees, with blanched face and dilating eyes, trying with
folded arms and trembling hand to hide her nudity.

At that moment the rapid beat of hoofs on the hard trail outside halted
Colter in his tracks.

"Hell!" he exclaimed. "An' who's that?" With a fierce action he flung
the remnants of Ellen's blouse in her face and turned to leap out the
door.

Jean saw Ellen catch the blouse and try to wrap it around her, while
she sagged against the wall and stared at the door. The hoof beats
pounded to a solid thumping halt just outside.

"Jim--thar's hell to pay!" rasped out a panting voice.

"Wal, Springer, I reckon I wished y'u'd paid it without spoilin' my
deals," retorted Colter, cool and sharp.

"Deals? Ha! Y'u'll be forgettin'--your lady love in a minnit,"
replied Springer. "When I catch--my breath."

"Where's Somers?" demanded Colter.

"I reckon he's all shot up--if my eyes didn't fool me."

"Where is he?" yelled Colter.

"Jim--he's layin' up in the bushes round thet bluff. I didn't wait to
see how he was hurt. But he shore stopped some lead. An' he flopped
like a chicken with its--haid cut off."

"Where's Antonio?"

"He run like the greaser he is," declared Springer, disgustedly.

"Ahuh! An' where's Queen?" queried Colter, after a significant pause.

"Dead!"

The silence ensuing was fraught with a suspense that held Jean in cold
bonds. He saw