Joe whipped up his horses. "Ask her!" he shouted back.
Sam whirled about and, seizing the wrist of the shrinking Bela, dragged her out of her corner.
"Is it true," he demanded—"the horses? Answer me before them all!"
She fought for breath enough to lie.
He saw it. "If you lie to me again I'll kill you!" he cried. "Answer me! Is it your team that I drive?"
His violence overbore her defences. "Yes," she said tremulously. "What difference does it make?"
The men looked on, full of shamefaced curiosity at this unexpected turn. One or two, more delicate-minded, went outside.
Sam's ghastly wound was torn wide open again. "What difference?" he cried, white and blazing. "Oh, my God, it means you've made a fool of me a second time! It means I've nerved myself and trained myself to fight this brute only to find he's able to give me the laugh after all!"
"Sam—you so poor, then," she murmured.
It was like oil on the flames. He flung off her beseeching hand. "I didn't ask your help!" he cried passionately. "I told you to leave me alone! You can't understand a man has his pride. You're loathsome to me now!"