They were quite alone in the room.  As Betty finished speaking and started for the door Miller intercepted her.  She recoiled in alarm from his white face.

“No, you don’t go yet.  I won’t give you up so easily.  No woman can play fast and loose with me!  Do you understand?  What have you meant all this winter?  You encouraged me.  You know you did,” he cried passionately.

“I thought you were a gentleman.  I have really taken the trouble to defend you against persons who evidently were not misled as to your real nature.  I will not listen to you,” said Betty coldly.  She turned away from him, all her softened feeling changed to scorn.

“You shall listen to me,” he whispered as he grasped her wrist and pulled her backward.  All the man’s brutal passion had been aroused.  The fierce border blood boiled within his heart.  Unmasked he showed himself in his true colors a frontier desperado.  His eyes gleamed dark and lurid beneath his bent brows and a short, desperate laugh passed his lips.

“I will make you love me, my proud beauty.  I shall have you yet, one way or another.”

“Let me go.  How dare you touch me!” cried Betty, the hot blood coloring her face.  She struck him a stinging blow with her free hand and struggled with all her might to free herself; but she was powerless in his iron grasp.  Closer he drew her.

“If it costs me my life I will kiss you for that blow,” he muttered hoarsely.

“Oh, you coward! you ruffian!  Release me or I will scream.”

She had opened her lips to call for help when she saw a dark figure cross the threshold.  She recognized the tall form of Wetzel.  The hunter stood still in the doorway for a second and then with the swiftness of light he sprang forward.  The single straightening of his arm sent Miller backward over a bench to the floor with a crashing sound.  Miller rose with some difficulty and stood with one hand to his head.

“Lew, don’t draw your knife,” cried Betty as she saw Wetzel’s hand go inside his hunting shirt.  She had thrown herself in front of him as Miller got to his feet.  With both little hands she clung to the brawny arm of the hunter, but she could not stay it.  Wetzel’s hand slipped to his belt.

“For God’s sake, Lew, do not kill him,” implored Betty, gazing horror-stricken at the glittering eyes of the hunter.  “You have punished him enough.  He only tried to kiss me.  I was partly to blame.  Put your knife away.  Do not shed blood.  For my sake, Lew, for my sake!”

When Betty found that she could not hold Wetzel’s arm she threw her arms round his neck and clung to him with all her young strength.  No doubt her action averted a tragedy.  If Miller had been inclined to draw a weapon then he might have had a good opportunity to use it.  He had the reputation of being quick with his knife, and many of his past fights testified that he was not a coward.  But he made no effort