They glared at each other; Estelle sobbed. “Try that again, Joe McGlory! Just try it! Hit me again! Why, you—why, I 'll break your neck!”
“You will?”
“Yes, I will. Just hit me again!”
McGlory looked him over, decided to accept the invitation, and plunged forward. Roche, without a moment's hesitation, turned and bolted up the road,—ran as if the fiends were on his heels. McGlory finally stopped, laughed viciously, and hurled a curse after him.
The third man let them go; he merely took Estelle's arm and helped her along, soothing her a little, trying to calm the outburst of hysteria that had been threatening for twenty-four hours. McGlory waited for them in the shadow of the woods; and a little farther on Roche fell in behind, muttering softly, and keeping well away from McGlory.
Estelle could hardly stagger along. McGlory passed his arm through hers and dragged her forward. Now she was silent, now she stifled a sob, now she begged piteously to be left behind. “Let me go back to Van Deelen's, Joe—please! I can't go on.”
“I thought you was such a walker.”
“Oh, but—not so far as this. Let me go back there.”
“Wouldn't that be smart, now! To leave you where you could blab the whole thing!” She tried to walk a few steps farther; then she broke away, stumbled to the roadside, and, sinking to the ground, covered her face with her hands.
Roche stopped short and stared at her. The other spoke up: “This won't do, Joe. There's no use killing her. We 'll drop back in the woods and take a rest. We 'll all be better for it.”