"Stop!"
He faced them, huge, terrible, quivering with rage. A step behind him was Hauck, and there was no longer in his face an effort to conceal his murderous intentions. Close behind Hauck there gathered quickly his white-faced whisky-mongers like a pack of wolves waiting for a lead-cry. David expected that cry to come from Brokaw. The Girl expected it, and she clung to David's shoulders, her bloodless face turned to the danger.
It was Brokaw who gave the signal to the men.
"Clear out the cage!" he bellowed. "This damned spy has killed my bear and he's got to fight me! Do you understand? Clear out the cage!"
He thrust his head and bull shoulders forward until his foul, hot breath touched their faces, and his red neck was swollen like the neck of a cobra with the passion of his jealousy and hatred.
"And in that fight—I'm going to kill you!" he hissed.
It was Hauck who put his hands on the Girl.
"Go with him," whispered David, as her arms tightened about his shoulders. "You must go with him, Marge—if I am to have a chance!"
Her face was against him. She was talking, low, swiftly, for his ears alone—with Hauck already beginning to pull her away.
"I will go to the house. When you see me at that window, fall on your face. I have a rifle—I will shoot him dead—from the window...."