"Out of my way," exclaimed Grace, white with rage and trying to push past him.
He caught her by the shoulder, "I reckon yo' un think that sneak of a Mark Grafton loves yo' un, but he don't. He told me so," sneered Tom.
"You lie. Mark Grafton is a soldier and a gentleman and you are a coward. Out of my way."
Her hand sought the bosom of her dress, but Tom did not notice. He was white with rage.
"I'll hev' yo' un yet," he shouted. "All hell can't keep me from heven yo'." He attempted to take her in his arms.
He drew back amazed. For the second time that afternoon he was looking into the muzzle of a revolver, and the hand that held that revolver was as firm and steady as the one that held the first.
