“How?” Annette asked in a whisper.
The man spoke on the instant. His whole manner was sharp and compelling.
“Show me the location of that darn still! That’s all. Just show me.”
Annette started back as though he had struck her in the face. Her lips sucked in the cold air, and the color faded out of her cheeks.
“Me hand them—penitentiary? Me?” she gasped.
“Do you want to herd with the wolves in snow-time? Say, there’ll be no marrying talk when the Wolf knows. The Wolf, who reckons you’re marked down his chattel. The Wolf, who you can’t ever hope to stand up to.”
The manner of it was wanton in its ruthlessness.
“The still? Tell you? God! No, Ernie! I just can’t do it!”
The girl stood off, staggered by the enormity of the thing he had demanded of her. Horror and a fierce reaction were surging.
But Sinclair had played his card to take the trick. The values lay on the table for the girl to see. He could afford to wait while she studied them, before the cards were turned and shut away.