“That won’t go down. You caynt kidnap me that way! I’ll appeal to the squire. No, no! I won’t! Before God, I won’t—I was jest fooling!”
The voice of terror soothed Abbie’s raw nerves like oil on a burn. “He’s scared now, the coward!” she rejoiced, savagely.
“There’s where we differ, then,” retorted Wickliff; “I wasn’t.”
“That’s all right. Only one thing: will you jest let me marry my sweetheart before I go, and I’ll go with you like a holy lamb; I will, by—”
“No swearing, Marker. That lady don’t want to marry you, and she ain’t going to—”
“Ask her,” pleaded Slater, desperately. “I’ll leave it with her. If she don’t say she loves me and wants to marry me, I’ll go all right.”
Abbie’s pulses stood still.
“Been trying the hypnotic dodge again, have you?” said Wickliff, contemptuously. “Well, it won’t work this time. I’ve got too big a curl on you.”
“‘HE’S SCARED NOW, THE COWARD’”