Finding himself unbound, Reynolds cast one glance toward Glen, and saw her looking at him with a peculiar expression in her eyes. He seemed to read there a challenge, which could have but one meaning. He turned to Curly, and beholding that sneer of contempt still upon his face, he sprang forward and confronted the villain.
"I am free now," he cried, "and am able to answer your insult to the purest woman upon earth. It is man to man, and we shall settle it right here."
But Curly was in no mood for a fight; that was not his nature. He was a coward at heart, though the failure of his plot made him so angry that he was daringly reckless. With a curse he started to turn away, but Reynolds caught him by the shoulders and swung him roughly around.
"No, you don't get off so easily," he told him. "One of us must get a drubbing here to-night, and if you can give it to me, come on."
"Take that, then," and Curly drew off and hit him a savage blow on the face.
It was all that Reynolds needed, and springing forward, he felled his antagonist to the ground with a single blow. And there Curly lay, and made no attempt to rise. He had enough, and he knew in his heart that he was no match for the man standing over him.
"Get up," Reynolds ordered. "I'm not through with you yet."
But Curly did not move. He lay there as if dead. Reynolds did not know what to do, for he was unwilling to inflict further punishment upon the creature while he was down.
"Curly." It was Glen's voice, and it had an ominous note. "Get up at once, and explain the meaning of this night's affair. Why this insult to Mr. Reynolds?"
To this command, however, Curly paid no heed, but remained as he had fallen. Glen's eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she tapped impatiently with her riding-whip upon the pommel of her saddle.