God had heard and answered her. One wild leap in the air, and the sound of tearing clothes as her already tattered skirt came in contact with the barbed wire—and Tess was crouching down in the safe-keeping of the brindle bull. The dog whirled frantically around, licking her face. Fear weakened her tongue—she could not speak—only little spasmodic sobs burst from the parted lips. She caught the huge dog to her breast and waited.
Ben Letts was on the tracks; she could hear his big chest heaving with fast-coming breath. He halted on the other side of the fence.
Pete scented an enemy and straightened out his strong muscles like whip cords, a hoarse growl coming from between his jaws.
Ben leaned over the fence with an oath.
"Ye'd better come away from him," he grunted threateningly. "Ye air thinking the brute can save ye—but I'll put a bullet through his pate."
Tessibel knew that the man had no rifle with him; and by the time he could get one she and the dog would be far away. Her mind worked fast under the pressure.
"What do you want, Ben Letts?" she demanded.
"I just wanted to talk to yer," wheedled the man. "Come over the fence, will ye?"
"Ye can talk to me here," sullenly replied Tess. "I don't want to hear none of yer dum gab."
"It air somethin' nice—it air candy," feigned Ben. Then the tones hardened in the coarse voice, and he ended: