For a moment Jinnie was nonplussed. Then she came valiantly to her friend’s aid.
“I know he didn’t. Of course he didn’t, you wicked, wicked men! Don’t you dare touch ’im, don’t you dare!”
“Well, he’s got to go with me,” affirmed the man in ugly, sneering tones. “Whistle for the patrol, Burns, and we’ll wheel the Jew in!” 244
Jinnie heard, as in a hideous dream, the shrill, trilling whistle; heard the galloping of horses and saw a long black wagon draw up to the steps.
When the two sullen men laid violent hold of the wheelchair, Jinnie’s terrified fingers reached toward the cobbler, and the sheriff gave her hand a sharp blow. Lafe uttered an inarticulate cry, and at that moment Jinnie forgot “Happy in Spite,” forgot Lafe’s angels and the glory of them, and sprang like a tiger at the man who had struck her. She flung one arm about his neck and fought him with tooth and nails. So surprised was Policeman Burns that he stood with staring eyes, making no move to rescue his mate from the tigerish girl.
“Damn you! Damn you!” screamed Jinnie. “I’ll kill you before you take ’im.”
Lafe cried out again, calling her name gently, imploringly, and tenderly. When his senses returned, Burns grasped Jinnie in his arms and held her firmly. There she stood panting, trying to break away from the policeman’s detaining fingers. She looked half crazed in the dimming late afternoon light.
“Merciful God, but you’re a tartar, miss!” said the sheriff ruefully. “Well, if she ain’t clawed the blood clean through my skin!”
“She comes of bad stock,” exclaimed Burns. “You can’t expect any more of Jews. Go on; I’ll hold ’er till you and Mike get the chair out.”
Hearing this, Jinnie began to sob hysterically and make more desperate efforts to free herself. The viselike fingers pressed deeper into her tender flesh.