"Strike you! You little b——h, I could break you in bits with my bare hands!"
They stayed glaring at each other. It was the glare that a huge dog and a dauntless little cat exchange when death is in the air. Then Anne spoke:
"Be a man ... for Gawd's sake ... pretend to be a man!" she said.
Chesney blinked and gasped with fury and weakness, as though she had spat in his face.
Anne followed it up.
"Look here," said she; "I'm trying with all my might to save you from hell ... yes, hell, sir!" She pounded her little brown fist against her other palm. "And you want to kill me for it. But I'm stronger than you are. Yes, I am! For why? For why my nerves ain't rotten with that filthy poison you love like mother's milk. And I'm going to save you whether you will or no! God or the devil helping me—I don't much care which—I'm going to save you! You hear that?"
She went closer to him—a little, furious figure, quivering with righteous rage.
"D'you think I'm afraid of you? Not much I ain't! Just look at me and tell me what you think about it."
Chesney sat hypnotised. Here was the Mongoose to his Serpent with a vengeance. Something began to rise slowly up in him—something clear and clean rising from the dregs of his stupefied better nature. It was that unwilling meed of admiration that the conquered pay to a courageous foe. Suddenly he laughed. It was a shocking sight and sound, this hoarse, weak laughter issuing from that grey, sweating face.
"By God! You little Bush-Ranger, you've got guts!" he gasped.