THE BULLDOG BARKS
Joyce fainted for the first time in her life.
When she recovered consciousness Doble was splashing water in her face.
She was lying on the bunk from which she had fled a few minutes earlier.
The girl made a motion to rise and he put a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Keep your hand off me!" she cried.
"Don't be a fool," he told her irritably. "I ain't gonna hurt you none—if you behave reasonable:"
"Let me go," she demanded, and struggled to a sitting position on the couch. "You let me go or my father—"
"What'll he do?" demanded the man brutally. "I've stood a heap from that father of yore's. I reckon this would even the score even if I hadn't—" He pulled up, just in time to keep from telling her that he had fired the chaparral. He was quite sober enough to distrust his tongue. It was likely, he knew, to let out some things that had better not be told.
She tried to slip by him and he thrust her back.
"Let me go!" she demanded. "At once!"
"You're not gonna go," he told her flatly. "You'll stay here—with me.
For keeps. Un'erstand?"