The woman broke out into violent protest.
"I won't do it. I won't. If you are a liberator, as they say you are, you won't let him force me to it, general, will you?"
At the sound of that voice Yeager's heart jumped. He would have known it among ten thousand. Little beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. The primitive instinct to kill seared across his brain and left him for the moment dizzy and trembling.
There was a grin on Pasquale's ugly mug. His tobacco-stained teeth showed behind the lifted lips.
"If young ladies will insist on running away with officers of mine—"
"I didn't. Ask the men. I fought. See where I bit his hand," she protested, fighting against hysterical fears.
"So? But Señor Harrison says you were engaged to him."
"I hate him. I've found him out. I'd rather die than—"
Yeager caught the arm fling that concluded her sentence of passionate protest.
Pasquale, little black eyes twinkling, shrugged broad shoulders and turned to Harrison.