"I don't want to be your friend!" panted Inez.
"Don't you?" asked Peter, looking at her through half-closed eyes. "Why not, Inez?"
Douglas, intrigued in spite of himself by this half-whispered conversation, glanced toward Inez. Instantly, Scott thrust the table against him and leaped toward the door. But Doug thrust out a spurred boot and the two young riders went down among the table legs. Inez twisted in Peter's grasp, but he pinioned both of her hands and watched the struggle anxiously. Suddenly he saw Douglas drive his knee violently into Scott's groin. Scott groaned and went limp. Douglas got to his knees and tied Scott's hands together with his own neckerchief. Then he dragged Scott to a sitting position against the wall and again covered him with his gun. Slowly the agony receded from Scott's face.
"Where's the preacher?" demanded Douglas.
Scott did not answer.
"I'm going to stay here till dawn," said Doug. "If you don't see fit to answer by then, you'll start on the hunt with me. Think it over."
Peter, both of Inez' wrists in one of his long, powerful hands, put fresh wood on the fire, then sat down again. Inez leaned against him, breathing unevenly. For a long time, no one spoke. Douglas, the sense of exultation still upon him, lighted cigarette after cigarette and waited patiently. How long a time went by he did not trouble himself to note, though he believed dawn could not be far distant.
The silence was broken by the galloping of a horse up to the door. A moment later, Mary Spencer burst into the kitchen. She was wind-blown and wild-eyed. Her coat was open. Her head was bare.
"Is Judith here?" she cried, without appearing to observe the peculiar postures of the inmates of the kitchen.
"No!" exclaimed Inez. "What's happened?"