Charlie turned upon the man behind him and was struck in the face by a gun barrel. He fell across a pile of fur, was struggling up when the heavy man deliberately placed a foot upon his wrist. Flip heard the bone snap.
He ground his teeth in rage, started to lunge at the man and felt the woman's gun press into his ribs. She had not moved from the table and her face was calm as ever. She had merely changed the cigarette to her left hand.
Fingering their bruises, the men Flip had dealt with came up. The other had his gun leveled on Charlie. Flip saw the little trapper get slowly to his feet, holding his limp arm. His face was very white. It was then that Flip became quite sober to the situation. Suddenly he forgot this woman's beauty, and what had been admiration turned to burning hate.
He told her so.
"For the last time," she said, "I'm asking for that map." Her eyes were green ice and her hand did not waver on the gun.
"I burned the map."
"Then you will tell me the location."
"I will tell you nothing."
"Perhaps we can change your mind," she said. "Bring a rope, Thorg."