When Kirstie had set before them a good meal,—hot tea, and hot boiled beans, and eggs, and white bread and butter,—they were disappointed because she gave them no pork, and they were not slow to demand it.
“I’ve got none,” said Kirstie; “we don’t eat pork here. You ought to get along well enough on what’s good enough for Miranda and me.”
For a backwoods house to be without pork, the indispensable, the universal, the lumberman’s staff of life, was something unheard of. They both thought she was keeping back the pork out of meanness.
“You lie!” exclaimed one, a lean, short, swarthy ruffian. The other got up and took a step toward the woman, where she stood, dauntlessly eying them. His scrubby red beard bristled, his massive shoulders hunched themselves ominously toward his big ears.
“You git that pork, and be quick about it!” he commanded, with the addition of such phrases of emphasis as the lumberman uses, but does not use in the presence of women.
“Beast!” exclaimed Kirstie, eyes and cheeks flaming. “Get out of this house.” And she glanced about for a weapon. But in a second the ruffian had seized her. Though stronger than most men, she was no match for him—a noted bully and a cunning master of the tricks of the ring. She was thrown in a second. Miranda, with a scream of rage, snatched up a table knife and darted to her mother’s aid; but the shorter ruffian, now delighted with the game, shouted: “Settle the old woman, Bill. I’ll see to the gal!” and made a grab for Miranda.
It had all happened so suddenly that Kirstie was, for a moment, stunned. Then, realizing the full horror of the situation, a strength as of madness came upon her. She set her teeth into the wrist of her assailant with such fury that he yelled and for a second loosed his hold. In that second, tearing herself half free, she clutched his throat with her long and powerful fingers. It was only an instant’s respite, but it was enough to divert the other scoundrel’s attention from Miranda. With a huge laugh he turned to free his mate from that throttling grip.
His purpose was never fulfilled. Kroof, just at this instant, thrust her nose from the door of the inner room, half awake, and wondering at the disturbance. Her huge bulk was like a nightmare. The swarthy wretch stood for an instant spellbound in amazement. With a savage growl, Kroof launched herself at him, and he, darting around the table, wrenched the door open and fled.
He ran wildly over the snow patches