"Back of the cabin. I came here to get water for him."
"In the shack!" the shudder with which the girl turned her back upon it would have made Nazimova pale with envy. "That--that gruesome place? Rather not----"
"Then you are not curious when it comes to empty houses? You're not consistent, Pandora. Where did you get that can?"
Jerry felt as though she were under a machine gun fire of words. The man's insolence infuriated her. She didn't dare resent it for fear he would leave her and investigate the cabin. She looked down at the can she still held between finger and thumb, then at the bed of ashes beside the pool.
"Did I find it there or behind the shack?" She mused as though interrogating herself, then quickly, "Is it yours? Take it if you want it."
"You know d--ed well that you didn't pick it up outside," Ranlett exploded as he caught the girl by the shoulder; she felt his hot flesh through her thin blouse. "You've been in that shack and you've----"
"Take your hand away! Quick!" Jerry commanded, her voice hoarse, her face white, her eyes blazing.
"I'll let you go when I get good and ready." The man sunk his fingers deeper into her shoulder to emphasize his words. "What's that yellow coyote in there been telling you----"
"Nothin' to your advantage, Ranlett. Put up your hands an' put 'em up quick," interrupted a voice. It was Beechy, Beechy leveling Jerry's villainous six-shooter at Ranlett's head. His face was white, one eye was almost closed but he had an air of cocky unconcern.
"Mrs. Lieut., grab his horse. No you don't!" as the late manager of the Double O, arms held high above his head, tried to trip the girl. A bullet whizzed so close to his ear that Ranlett turned a sickly green. "Yer see, I'm a little nervous. I'm used to this old-time six-shooter; I've been using a Colt 45. I'll get the range better next time and it'll come closer. I didn't get my expert rifleman badge in the army for shootin' crap. Frisk his pockets, Mrs. Lieut." For the fraction of a second Jerry hesitated.
"Quick! Get busy, unless you want more of his pack down on us. That's the stuff! Now you're talkin'," as the girl produced a corpulent revolver from a hip pocket. Ranlett's voice was hoarse with fury as he dared: