CHAPTER XXVI
THE FIERY FURNACE
Dorothy was not likely to scream—not just at the moment she was thrust into the old shack by her two vigorous captors. For the black-haired woman clapped her dirty palm right over the girl’s mouth, hissing into her ear meanwhile:
“Let a squawk out o’ ye, me foine lady, and I’ll choke it back inter yer throat like a cork-stopper. Understand me, now?”
Dorothy nodded. Although she was greatly startled, she was not so frightened that she could not think clearly. What would these women make by trying to hold her captive here, so near a public street? Surely they would not really injure her if she obeyed them.
“Easy, dear,” urged the light-haired woman, who confessed to the name of Jane Daggett. “We won’t hurt a hair of her head—but that hat——”
She tore the pretty hat Dorothy wore from her head. Then off came the girl’s jacket. Jane Daggett spied the watch Dorothy carried.
“The jewelry’s too much for the likes of her,” she said, grinning. “And there’s her ring.”
The black-haired woman tore the ring from Dorothy’s finger. “That’s my share, Jane,” she said. “Don’t you be a pig, my dear.”
“Sure we’ll share an’ share alike,” replied Jane Daggett, grimly. “Take off your dress, my dear,” she commanded Dorothy. “It’s too good for ye. I’ll give ye one o’ me own. It may be a mite too big for ye; but ye’ll grow to it,” and she chuckled at her own witticism.