Jon felt blood trickle down his chin.
"I'll not tell you a thing, Stine. Not about the alloy, or even how to rig your guns to beat it."
The next blow was with Stine's closed fist. Jon's head snapped back viciously, and he held on by sheer will to consciousness. He tensed for another blow. It did not come. And suddenly, Stine's voice was a calm, almost silky thing, barely loud enough for Jon to hear.
"A pity," he was saying, "that your man is so defiant a fellow, Lenantech. I almost imagine that even after the risk you took to save his hide, he'd watch your pretty face be beaten to a pulp rather than tell me the things I'd like to know! That's the way with these noble fellows, you know. Of course, a girl's face isn't everything. But, I suppose that he'd even—"
"Stine, you wouldn't dare!"
"Care to try me, Master Kane?"
"Damn you, Stine—"
The big man clenched his right fist, raised it, and Jon watched Deanne's face whiten, saw the silent plea in her eyes in the quick glance she gave him. But her taut lips did not move.
"You had better speak, Kane—"
"All right! All right, I'll rig your guns for you!"