She saw him trembling with fear, paralyzed with terror so that his clenched hand still reached above his head,—shaking. She thought then of the pistol he always carried with him. For the second time she smiled. She saw him try to take a step backwards. His knees almost gave way under him. The chow wormed a bit nearer.
"Call him off;—take him away. Damn you, speak to him—! For Gawd's sake,—do something;—" he whined.
She looked at the man, cowed; abjectly afraid. She had nothing more to fear from him. He was beaten. Her hand went out until it rested on the dog's head.
"It's all right, China-Ching. It's all right,—now." She felt the chow's great eyes fixed on her face; she felt that he was waiting. "You can go on, James;—go on into the house!"
"What—what d'you mean?"
He stuttered.
"I'm going," she said. "Me, and China-Ching. I told you I'd go when I was ready;—but I wasn't going alone. That's what you ain't understood, James. Now we're both going. And you better be meandering up to your house, or maybe China-Ching he'll be getting tired of waiting."
Slowly the man turned; ponderously, his figure huddled together, he started back stumbling along in the full path of the moonlight.
She thought she saw his fingers fumbling to his hip-pocket.
"Stop!" She called. "None of that, James. This here's one time when that there gun don't work."