more stoppered like a bottle by the
Winslow grip and the Winslow hand. He wriggled and fought, but he
was pinned and helpless, hands, feet and vocal organs. Jed did not
so much as look at him; he looked only at Ruth.

Her pallor had increased. She was trembling.

"Oh, Jed," she cried, "what does he mean? What does he mean by--by
'again--here'?"

Jed's grip tightened over his captive's mouth.

"He doesn't mean anything," he declared, stoutly. "He don't know
what he means."

From behind the smothering fingers came a defiant mumble. Ruth
leaned forward.

"Jed," she begged, "does he--does he know about--about--"

Jed nodded. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly, but she did
not collapse or give way.

"And he is going to tell?" she whispered.

A furious mumble from behind the fingers and a venomous flash from
the Babbitt eyes were answers sufficient.

"Oh, Jed," she pleaded, "what SHALL we do?"

For the instant a bit of the old Jed came to the surface. His lip
twitched grimly as he looked down at the crimson face above his own
hand.

"I ain't sartin--yet," he drawled. "How do you start in killin'
a--a snappin' turtle? I ain't tackled the job since I was a boy."

Phineas looked as if he could have furnished some points on the
subject. His eyes were bulging. Then all three heard the door of
the outer shop open.

Ruth looked desperately about her. She hastened to the door by
which she had entered. "There's some one coming," she whispered.

Jed glanced over his shoulder. "You go away," he whispered in
reply. "Go away, Ruth. Hurry!"

Her hand was on the latch of the door, but before she could open it
the other door, that leading from the outer shop, opened and
Leonard Grover came in. He stared at the picture before him--at
Ruth Armstrong's pale, frightened face, at Babbitt struggling in
his captor's clutch, at Jed.

"Why!" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

No one answered. Phineas was the only one who stirred. He seemed
anxious to turn the tableau into a moving picture, but his success
was limited. The Major turned to Ruth.

"What is it?" he asked again.

She was silent. Grover repeated his question, addressing Jed this
time.

"Well?" he asked, sharply. "What is the trouble here? What has
that fellow been doing?"

Jed looked down at his wriggling captive. "He's--he's--" he
stammered. "Well, you see, Major, he . . . Hum . . . well, I'm
afraid I can't tell you."

"You can'