“Throw it on the ground!”
Lawless, when he so willed, could be fair-spoken and act the gentleman; but at heart he was a demon, and Hotchkiss’ taunt had driven him to do his worst.
The ring, a plain gold band and plainly a wedding-ring, was dropped on the ground.
“There’s a locket at your neck,” pursued Lawless relentlessly, flashing his fiercely mocking eyes at the scowling Hotchkiss, “and I must have that.”
The woman tore away her veil, revealing a middle-aged face that must once have been very beautiful, and was even now comely withal the lines of sorrow and suffering that crossed it.
A pair of hazel eyes pleaded for the locket, pleaded even more than lips could have done, but fruitlessly.
Slowly the woman unclasped the golden chain, half-stretched the round locket toward Lawless, then drew back the hand and pressed the trinket to her bosom.
“No, no!” she gasped; “I would rather you took my life!”
Leaning suddenly forward in his saddle, Lawless caught the locket away with brutal force.
“This is no time to go against my orders,” he snapped, as the woman, utterly unnerved, sank back in her seat and covered her face with her hands. “Drive on, you!” he added to the driver of the stage. “Don’t stop until you have gone two miles, and don’t one of you dare to look back while you are within gunshot of this place. You’ll be covered as long as you’re within range—mark that!”