f the bunk.

"Please do." And he gathered his feet under him, ready for a spring
forward and a grip at the boy's threatening rifle.

Jack had canted his head a little to one side, smiling faintly for the
joy of the memory.

"Did you ever see a horse that was gentle and yet had never been
ridden, or his spirit broke, Pierre--"

Here Pierre made his leap swift as some bobcat of the northern woods;
his hand whipped out as lightning fast as the striking paw of the lynx,
and the gun was jerked from the hands of Jack. Not before the boy
clutched at it with a cry of horror, but the force of the pull sent him
lurching to the floor and broke his grip.

He was up in an instant, however, and a knife of ugly length glittered
in his hand; as he sprang at Pierre his lips were as white as the teeth
over which they snarled.

Pierre tossed aside the rifle and met the attack bare-handed. Deadly
swift was the thrust of the knife, but compared with the motion of
Pierre it was as slow as tame things are when they are likened to the
wild.

He caught the knife-bearing hand at the wrist and under his grip the
hand loosened its hold and the steel tinkled on the floor. His other
arm caught the body of Jack in a mighty vise.

There was a brief and futile struggle, and a hissing of breath in the
silence till the hat tumbled from the head of Jack and down over the
shoulders streamed a torrent of silken black hair.

Pierre stepped back. This was the meaning, then, of the strangely
small feet and hands and the low music of the voice. It was the body
of a girl that he had held, and his arm still tingled from the
finger-tips to the shoulder.

CHAPTER XI

JACK GROWS UP

It was not fear nor shame that made the eyes of Jacqueline so wide as
she stared past Pierre toward the door. He glanced across his
shoulder, and blocking the entrance to the room, literally filling the
doorway, was the bulk of Jim Boone.

"Seems as if I was sort of steppin' in on a little family party," he
said. "I'm sure glad you two got acquainted so quick. Jack, how did
you and-- What the hell's your name, lad?"

"He tricked me, dad, or he would never have got the gun away from me.
This--this Pierre--this beast--he got me to talk of Hal till my eyes
filled up and I couldn't see. Then he stole----"

"The point," said Jim Boone coldly, "is that he got the gun. Run
along, Jack. You ain't so growed up as I was thinkin'. Or hold
on--maybe you're mo