"Git to work! Damn ye!" snarled the Captain, "yer losin' time! You cook that supper, er by God I'll make ye wisht I had killed ye! I'll tame ye! I'll show ye who's boss! Mebbe you won't be so pretty when I git through with ye—but ye'll be tame!"
The innermost thought of her brain found voice in words, "Oh, if he were here!"
"Hollerin' fer yer man, eh," taunted the Captain, "Ye ain't his'n now, yer mine—an' he won't come cause he's dead——"
"Dead!" The word shrieked from the lips of the tortured girl, "No, no, no!"
"Yes, yes, yes," mocked the man, "He's dead an' froze hard as a capstan bar, somewheres upon
the sea ice, an' his Injun, too. Got dead drunk upon the Belva Lou, an' started fer shore in the big storm—an' he never got there. So ye might's well make the best of it with me. An' I'll treat ye right if ye give me what I want. An' if ye don't give it, I'll take it—an' it'll be the worse fer you."
The girl scarcely heard the words. Brent was dead. Her whole world—the world that was just beginning to unfold its beauties and its possibilities to her—to hold promise of the wondrous happiness of which she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to realize—her whole world had suddenly come crashing about her—Brent was dead, and—like a flame of fire the thought flashed across her brain—the man responsible for his death stood before her, and was even now threatening her with a fate a thousand times worse than death.
With a wild scream, animal-like, terrifying in its fury, the girl sprang upon the man like a tiger. He saw the flash of the knife blade in the air, and warding off the blow with his arm, felt the bite and the hot rip of it as it tore into his shoulder. With a yell of pain and rage he struck blindly out, and his fist sent the girl crashing against the table. The force of the impact jarred the chimney from the little oil bracket-lamp, and the light suddenly dimmed to a red flaring half-gloom. Like a flash the girl recovered herself, and again she flew at the man whose hand gripped the butt of his revolver. Again he struck out to ward the blow, and by the merest
accident the barrel of the heavy gun struck the wrist of the hand that held the knife hurling it from her grasp, while at the same time his foot tripped her and she crashed heavily to the floor. Before she could get up, the man was upon her, cursing, panting hot fury. Kicking, striking out, clawing like a wild cat, the girl managed to tear herself from his grasp, but as she regained her feet, a huge hand fastened in the neck of her shirt. There was a moment of terrific strain as she pulled to free herself, holding to the stanchion of the bunk for support, then with a loud ripping sound the garment, and the heavy woolen undershirt beneath gave way, and the girl, stripped bare to the waist, stood panting with the table interposed between herself and the man who rose slowly to his feet. At the sight of her, half naked in the dimly wavering light of the flaring wick flame, his look suddenly shifted from mad fury to bestial desire. Deliberately he picked up the knife from the floor, and without taking his eyes from the girl opened the door and tossed it out into the snow. Then he returned the revolver to its holster and stared gloatingly at the white breasts that rose and fell convulsively, as the breath sobbed from the girl's lungs. And as she looked into his devouring eyes, abysmal terror once more seized hold of her, for the loathsome desire in those eyes held more of horror than had their blaze of fury.
The man moistened his thick lips, smacking them