"I will not!" she gasped.
"It is loaded! It will go off!"
"I care not."
"Oh, no! so long as it shoots me."
"Send the lead into my heart!"
"Then let go. But no! the bullet is not for you. Let go, I say, or
I will brain you with the butt end, and then shoot him!"
"I will not! Kill me if you will!"
Strong, athletic, lithe in her movements, Mehetabel was a match for the small muscular Jonas. If he succeeded for a moment in twisting the gun out of her hands it was but for an instant. She had caught the barrel again at another point.
He strove to beat her knuckles against Thor's Stone, but she was too dexterous for him. By a twist she brought his hand against the block instead of her own.
With an oath he cast himself upon her, by the impact, by the weight, to throw her down. Under the burden she fell on her knees, but did not relinquish her hold on the gun. On the contrary she obtained greater power over it, and held the barrel athwart her bosom, and wove her arms around it.