“Let me go!” she cried, terror rampant in her white face.  “Don’t touch me!  Let me go!”

The force of her recoil had drawn him to his side.  His cruel, mirthless grin seemed to her to carry inexpressible menace.  Very slowly, while his eyes taunted her, he pulled her manacled wrist closer.

There was a swift flash of white teeth.  With a startled oath Doble snatched his arm away.  Savage as a tigress, Joyce had closed her teeth on his forearm.

She fell back, got to her feet, and fled from the house.  Doble was after her on the instant.  She dodged round a tree, doubled on her course, then deflected toward the corral.  Swift and supple though she was, his long strides brought him closer.  Again she screamed.

Doble caught her.  She fought in his arms, a prey to wild and unreasoning terror.

“You young hell-cat, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said.  “What’s the use o’ actin’ crazy?”

He could have talked to the waves of the sea with as much effect.  It is doubtful if she heard him.

There was a patter of rapid feet.  A small body hurled itself against Doble’s leg and clung there, beating his thigh with a valiant little fist.

“You le’ my sister go!  You le’ my sister go!” the boy shouted, repeating the words over and over.

Doble looked down at Keith.  “What the hell?” he demanded, amazed.

The Mexican came forward and spoke in Spanish rapidly.  He explained that he could not have prevented the boy from coming without arousing the suspicions of his sister and her friends.

The outlaw was irritated.  All this clamor of fear annoyed and disturbed him.  This was not the scene he had planned in his drink-inspired reveries.  There had been a time when Joyce had admired the virile force of him, when she had let herself be kind to him under the impression she was influencing him for his good.  He had misunderstood the reaction of her mind and supposed that if he could get her away from the influence of her father and the rest of his enemies, she would again listen to what he called reason.

“All right.  You brought the brat here without orders.  Now take him home again,” directed Doble harshly.

Otero protested fluently, with gestures eloquent.  He had not yet been paid for his services.  By this time Malapi might be too hot for him.  He did not intend ever to go back.  He was leaving the country pronto—­muy pronto.  The boy could go back when his sister went.

“His sister’s not going back.  Soon as it gets dark we’ll travel south.  She’s gonna be my wife.  You can take the kid back to the road an’ leave him there.”

Again the Mexican lifted hands and shoulders while he pattered volubly, trying to make himself heard above the cries of the child.  Dug had silenced Joyce by the simple expedient of clapping his big hand over her mouth.

Doble’s other hand went into his pocket.  He drew out a flat package of currency bound together with rubber bands.  His sharp teeth drew off one of the rubbers.  From the bundle he stripped four fifty-dollar bills and handed them to Otero.