saying what I'll do to her AFTERWARD!" His voice grew hoarser
with passion. "Let me go now!"

"No! no! I won't let you go. You'll choke the--the truth out of
her--you'll kill her."

"The TRUTH!" hissed Bland.

"Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save me. You needn't--murder
her--for that."

Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling sound of bodies in
violent straining contact--the scrape of feet--the jangle of spurs--a
crash of sliding table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in pain.

Duane stepped into the open door, inside the room. Kate Bland lay half
across a table where she had been flung, and she was trying to get to
her feet. Bland's back was turned. He had opened the door into Jennie's
room and had one foot across the threshold. Duane caught the girl's low,
shuddering cry. Then he called out loud and clear.

With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze on the threshold.
His sight, quick as his action, caught Duane's menacing unmistakable
position.

Bland's big frame filled the door. He was in a bad place to reach for
his gun. But he would not have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes
the desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting instant Bland
shifted his glance to his wife. Then his whole body seemed to vibrate
with the swing of his arm.

Duane shot him. He fell forward, his gun exploding as it hit into the
floor, and dropped loose from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him,
stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up with clouded gaze, then
gasped his last.

"Duane, you've killed him!" cried Kate Bland, huskily. "I knew you'd
have to!"

She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, her strong hands
clenching, her face slowly whitening. She appeared shocked, half
stunned, but showed no grief.

"Jennie!" called Duane, sharply.

"Oh--Duane!" came a halting reply.

"Yes. Come out. Hurry!"

She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, and she stumbled over
Bland's body. Duane caught her arm, swung her behind him. He feared
the woman when she realized how she had been duped. His action was
protective, and his movement toward the door equally as significant.

"Duane," cried Mrs. Bland.

It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
that moment there was a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane.
Kate Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back her amazement was
changing to realization.

"Where 're you taking Jen?"