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Updated: June 26, 2025
Her lips moved but no sound issued. "Judge" Summerling bowed stiffly and cleared his throat. Steve Jarrold's hat ceased revolving an instant, then fairly spun as though to make up for lost time. Suddenly Gloria began to laugh hysterically, uncontrollably. Gratton whipped back and stared at her; Summerling and Jarrold were mystified. She looked so little like laughter!
Jarrold did not appear made for mirth, and him she feared most of all; yes, even more than Brodie, whom she had seen do murder, and Benny who, she knew, had done murder. Brail and the Italian said little; they were men to follow where other men led.
Gratton, grown nimble, darted ahead with Brodie always close at his heels. Gloria, forced on by Jarrold, came next, and after them the others. Benny was the last; he had taken time to put the gold back into the sack and set it aside among the shadows. For Benny believed in making sure of what they had, even while they quested better things.
Yet she could think forward to one occurrence only that could give her respite and a frail chance for freedom: if they would only fight as, in some dim instinctive way, it was given her to understand that such men would fight once a wrathful blow had been given and taken if the others would only watch them and not her, if she could come to one of the rifles or outside She turned to Jarrold.
His companions laughed; they laughed at anything. One of them, Steve Jarrold, came closer to look into her face. She saw that his steps were uncertain; she had heard how thick was his vocal utterance; now she smelled the whiskey with which he reeked. A shout broke from Jarrold. He clutched her shoulder with a great claw of a hand and drew her closer to him, his face thrust down to hers.
That's where King had his camp; that where's I got the sack. It's up there " "No wonder she wanted to skip out," jeered Steve Jarrold, his great bony hand locked about Gloria's shrinking shoulder. His ill-featured face, the small, pig eyes, always jeering, the black bristle of beard, not unlike a hog's bristles, were thrust close to her face. "Where's King all this time?" he demanded.
Then they left hers lingeringly; Brodie was stamping impatiently, calling to him. "Take her!" snapped Jarrold. "Hell take both of you." The laughter and challenge went out of Swen Brodie's bloodshot eyes; a new red surged all of a sudden into them. He turned and came slowly about the fire, his arms still uplifted, the crooking fingers toward Gloria.
Brodie let her slip down and turned away from her. His mood was not so soon for a woman. "See she keeps her mouth shut," he said threateningly. "If she ain't got sense enough for that she ain't got sense to go on living." Benny stooped and feasted his eyes on her. Then, straightening up, he turned to Jarrold with nodding approval. "She skins anything I ever saw," he admitted.
Jarrold moved at her side. She went faster. He put his hand on her. "Didn't you hear what he said?" he asked. She tried to break away and run. He held her One clear thought and only one formed in her mind. As she had never longed for anything in her life, she yearned for Mark King. "Mark!" she screamed, "Mark King! Save me." Jarrold clapped a big dirty hand over her mouth.
Thus she watched as Brodie gripped the slack of Gratton's coat shoulders and shoved the body out into the snow. She even marked how the living man spat after the dead. "Go to the coyotes," he muttered. "They're your kind." Gloria knew that if she took a step Jarrold would clutch her again. So she stood very still.
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