He sprang to his feet and came right out. It seemed to her that she had never seen him before. This was the real La Touche.
“One word more from you,” he shouted, “and I’ll show you who’s master. You! Talk to me, would you! A—woman more trouble than you’re worth. Off with you, get down the beach—clear!”
He took a step forward with his right fist ready to strike, open-handed. Then he drew back. She had whipped the knife from its sheath.
The boat hook, which she had brought back with her, was propped against the cliff behind her and out of his reach, he had no weapon.
She did not add a word to the threat of the knife. He stood like a fool, unable to sustain her gaze, venomous, yet held, as a snake is held by a man’s grip.
“Now,” she said, “get on. Go search for your companion and if you dare to speak to me again like that I will make you repent it. You thought I was weak being a woman and alone. You were going to strike. Coward!—Get on, go and search for your companion.”
He turned suddenly and walked off towards the Lizard rocks. “I’ll go where I choose,” said he.
It was a lame and impotent end of his rebellion, but she held no delusions. This was only the beginning—if Bompard did not return.
She put the knife in its sheath and then she put the boat hook away, hiding it behind the sailcloth in her cave, then she went into the men’s cave. La Touche’s clasp knife lay there on the sand, it was not much of a weapon but she took it. She examined the dinner knives again. They were almost useless as weapons. Then she came out. La Touche had disappeared beyond the rocks and she came to the boat. There was nothing here in the way of a weapon that he might use, unless the oars. They were heavy, but he was strong. She determined to leave nothing to chance and, carrying the oars down the beach to the break in the cliffs, she hid them amongst some scrub bushes. Then she remembered the axe, sought for it and hid it.
Then she came back and sat down to reconsider matters.