but you oughtn' ter go."

"Come on, then! You must mind me if you wish to keep my good will. I
know what I'm about." As in his former encounter, his weapon was again
a long, tough whipstock with a leather thong attached. This he cut off
and put in his pocket, then followed Jane's rapid lead up the hill.
Very soon she said, "There's the place I saw 'im in. If you will go,
I'd steal up on him."

"Yes. You stay here." She made no reply, but the moment he
disappeared she was upon his trail. Her curiosity was much greater
than her timidity, and she justly reasoned that she had little to fear.

Holcroft approached from a point whence Ferguson was expecting no
danger. The latter was lying on the ground, gnawing his nails in
vexation, when he first heard the farmer's step. Then he saw a
dark-visaged man rushing upon him. In the impulse of his terror, he
drew his revolver and fired. The ball hissed near, but did no harm,
and before Ferguson could use the weapon again, a blow from the
whipstock paralyzed his arm and the pistol dropped to the ground. So
also did its owner a moment later, under a vindictive rain of blows,
until he shrieked for mercy.

"Don't move!" said Holcroft sternly, and he picked up the revolver. "So
you meant to kill me, eh?"

"No, no! I didn't. I wouldn't have fired if it hadn't been in
self-defense and because I hadn't time to think." He spoke with
difficulty, for his mouth was bleeding and he was terribly bruised.

"A liar, too!" said the farmer, glowering down upon him. "But I knew
that before. What did you mean by your threats to my wife?"

"See here, Mr. Holcroft; I'm down and at your mercy. If you'll let me
off I'll go away and never trouble you or your wife again."

"Oh, no!" said Holcroft with a bitter laugh. "You'll never, never
trouble us again."

"What, do you mean to murder me?" Ferguson half shrieked.

"Would killing such a thing as you be murder? Any jury in the land
would acquit me. You ought to be roasted over a slow fire."

The fellow tried to scramble on his knees, but Holcroft hit him another
savage blow, and said, "Lie still!"

Ferguson began to wring his hands and beg for mercy. His captor stood
over him a moment or two irresolutely in his white-heated anger; then
thoughts of his wife began to soften him. He could not go to her with
blood on his hands--she who had taught him such lessons of forbearance
and forgiveness. He put the pistol in his pocket