Zeke was astounded when he looked around the living-room and recognized Marshal Stone, together with the members of the posse. He suddenly became aware that the change in Uncle Dick was even greater than he had supposed. There had been a radical readjustment of the old man’s’ attitude toward life, which disposed him not only to acceptance of Zeke with affection and confidence, but also to toleration of, and alliance with, the “revenuers,” whom he had so consistently hated through a long lifetime. Zeke refrained however, from any open expression of his amazement, and at once joined the other men in devising a plan of operations to be begun at dawn.
It was decided that Uncle Dick should accompany the marshal and Brant, with the stag-hound, to the tracks of Hodges and Plutina on the north face of Stone Mountain, near Sandy Creek, where the dog could take up the scent, in the hope of solving the mystery that had baffled the human searchers.
Then Uncle Dick interposed a suggestion that suited Zeke well. 202
“If so be,” he exclaimed abruptly, “as how Dan Hodges is atop thet-thar mounting, an’ he gits the dawg nigh the precipice, he might throw the critter over. He’s powerful strong, Dan is, an’ desprit.”
“Yes, the fellow’s capable of it,” Stone agreed.
“I’m a-thinkin’ as hit mout be well fer Zeke to git atop the mounting fust off,” Uncle Dick continued, “an’ watch out fer Hodges. Hit’s pretty open up thar, and easy to waylay a body.”
“I’ll go,” Zeke declared, with eagerness.
The marshal directed the men of the posse to scatter to various points on the railway lines.
“Hodges’ll probably try to get out of the country, the minute he hears the hound after him,” Stone explained. “All of my men have seen him, and they’ll be able to stop him, if he manages somehow to cover his scent from the dog, and get off.”
Sutton, much against his will, was forced to remain inactive at the cabin as he was not physically fitted for the hard tramping over the mountains.
Zeke was the prey of emotions too deep to permit much interest in a stranger, but he had a friendly, if wan, smile for the veteran, whom he remembered from their single meeting. He attempted a display of attention on hearing of the marriage so recently achieved, but the effort failed pitifully. Seth Jones, however, took no offence, since he understood how great must be the young man’s misery. 203 On the contrary, his sympathies were deeply stirred, and he essayed a few words meant to comfort.
“An’ I reckon I’ll go ’long with you-all, Zeke, in the mornin’,” he concluded.
But Zeke shook his head at the offer.
“I got to cross over home fer my rifle-gun,” he explained, vaguely.
“I clean fergot to tell ye,” Uncle Dick cried. “Yer rifle-gun’s hyar, Zeke. I done fotched it over fer ye.”
“Thank ye, Uncle Dick,” was the grave response. But the young man did not rescind his refusal of the veteran’s company.
Uncle Dick offered a share of his bed to Brant and the marshal, but it was refused by both. There were blankets spread for the men on the floor of the porch, where the smoke gushed from a smudge kettle to keep off the mosquitoes. There, presently, the company stretched themselves for the brief dreamless sleep won by the day’s fatigues.
Even Zeke fell into a sound slumber, with the bull-terrier nestled at his breast. He had not thought to sleep, only to lie quiet for a little rest, and then, long before the dawn, to issue forth alone. Nevertheless, his repose was profound for two hours, or more. Perhaps, the stirring of the dog awoke him; perhaps, his own determination, subconsciously 204 exerted. Anyhow, he straightened up suddenly, and stared about him stupidly, reluctant to believe that he had actually slept thus, while Plutina cried out for succor. He was relieved when he perceived that there was not yet even a trace of dawn in the east. He realized that it was as well, for though he had lost little time, he felt vitally refreshed, with new vigors to battle in behalf of the girl he loved. It was but the work of a minute noiselessly to possess himself of his rifle, and to descend the steps. The bull-terrier kept close at his heels. With the dog still following, Zeke, pressed forward through the darkness toward Stone Mountain.
The other sleepers were aroused by Uncle Dick as the first gray light was flushing to the rose of dawn over the eastern mountains. There was some astonishment at finding Zeke already gone, but it subsided quickly, for all understood how great must be his anxiety. The men of the posse duly took their departure for the railway points designated by the marshal. Seth Jones set out in pursuit of Zeke. Stone, with Uncle Dick and Brant, made ready for the actual hunting of the outlaw.
“I’ve seen Jack more than once pick up a cold trail three days old,” the hound’s master declared, with a manifest pride in the creature’s prowess; “and run down his man. Can we get hold of something 205 to give him the scent—an old shoe, or cap—anything?”
“Got jest the thing fer ye,” Uncle Dick replied, leading the way from the cabin toward one of the out-buildings. “Hit’s an ole coat. Dan left hit one hot day when he stopped in at my forge, to tinker the rivets to the cap o’ the still. Hit was dum hot thet day, an’ he left ’is coat. ’Twa’n’t wuth comin’ back fer. I ’low the smell’s about all thet’s left to hit.”
Brant showed the tattered garment to the stag-hound, and bade the animal smell it. The dog sniffed obediently a few times, sneezed as if in disgust of the odor, regarded its master understandingly, and then walked away.
“That’s all that’s necessary,” Cyclone Brant declared. “The dog and I are ready.”
Forthwith, the three men, with the hound, set forth toward the southeast, to cut the track of the outlaw near Sandy creek. They followed the trail to a point some distance beyond the Woodruff Gate, and then left it to ascend the precipitous slopes near the eastern end of Stone Mountain. They were not far from Sandy Creek Falls, when the marshal halted, and pointed out the remains of a camp-fire.
“This is where Hodges stopped to cook his supper the first night,” he explained. “I followed the 206 tracks on to the creek, and up it to the falls, where I lost them. Now, it’s up to the dog.”
A growl from the hound caused the three to look up, startled. There was an exclamation from Uncle Dick, and the rifle leaped to his shoulder.
“No, no—don’t shoot!” Stone ordered. He, too, had seen and recognized Garry Hawks, as the fellow, evidently disconcerted by their presence there, slipped stealthily into the laurel. “He’ll be more useful to us alive presently,” he explained to Uncle Dick, who had obeyed protestingly.
“Thet’s so, likely,” the old man conceded grudgingly. Then he chuckled harshly, for the first time since Plutina’s disappearance. “Got his right wing slung up! Did ye see hit? Tiny done hit—pore gal! Purty peart at shootin’, Tiny is. Thet-thar—”
“There’s a fresh track here made by Hodges,” the marshal exclaimed, interrupting. He pointed to a plain imprint on the dirt covering of a flat rock.
Brant brought his dog to the spot, pointed to the footprint, and slipped the leash. The hound lowered its head, snuffed at the ground, and gave tongue. In the same second, it was off at speed, running with muzzle low, with the continuous whining yelps that told of a warm scent. It did not vanish into the coverts as all had expected, but followed through the open place that led to the northward, skirting 207 the wood. As the men hurried after, they caught a final glimpse of the dog two hundred yards beyond, just disappearing over a ridge. They followed the sound of its baying with what haste they might, yet slowly, by reason of the difficult going. The dog’s cries guided them, much to the surprise of Uncle Dick and the marshal, straight toward Sandy Creek Falls, whither the first tracks of the outlaw and the girl had led, and where they had been so mysteriously lost. As the three scrambled up a steep ascent, scarcely a hundred yards from the sand-bar, there came to their ears from the hound a high, melancholy howl.
“It means that Jack is at fault, somehow,” Brant explained in answer to a grunt of inquiry from Uncle Dick. “Something puzzling him for a minute.”
The two listeners looked at each other with grave faces. Was it possible, they wondered, that the hound would be baffled, even as they had been, there at the pool? But their expression lightened the next moment, for two sharp, harsh barks came from the dog, which was evidently still in the neighborhood of the falls, and its master interpreted:
“Jack’s treed his game, sure’s you’re born!”
The three topped the ridge, and broke into a run down the slope, their rifles at the ready. Within the minute, they leaped from the thicket into the 208 open place below the falls. Then, with one accord, they stopped short and stood staring bewilderedly.
The hound continued its deep-chested baying. It stood erect on its hind legs, almost to a man’s height. It was supported by its fore-paws extended as far up as they would reach against the wall of the precipice, a little to the left of the waterfall. As it barked, the dog held its muzzle pointed straight upward. There could be no doubt, if the sensitiveness of the brute were to be relied on, that its quarry had, in some incomprehensible fashion, contrived to mount the sheer surface of the cliff. That the hound was sure, was made plain by the rigidity of its posture, by the fierce, challenging ululations, which pealed forth incessantly.
The three men went forward presently, their gaze wandering aloft from the dog, over the inaccessible expanse of vertical cliffs. They came down to the sand-bar, and followed it around the pool, still in silence, and still with their puzzled eyes roving hither and yon for some clue to understanding of this thing. But, of a sudden, Uncle Dick shouted:
“I see how ’tis! I shorely kotch on. Looky thar!”
The marshal and Brant followed the direction of his pointing arm, but they saw nothing to make the matter clear—only a tiny ledge, fifty feet above them, along which grew a few bushes and clumps 209 of ground pine. It offered no hiding-place for a child even, hardly footing for the outlaw’s heavy bulk. But Uncle Dick shook his head to rebuke their lack of comprehension, then explained:
“Dan’s a keen un, all right,” he said, with grudging admiration. “But this-hyar time he’s done left ’is mark fer my ole eyes to see. Now, you-all jest throw yer eyes o’ vision up the side o’ the cliff ag’in. If ye looks cluss, ye kin see a streak o’ dampness on the rock. Hit’s jet as if a mounting rattler mout ’a’ dove down the rock right thar. But ’twa’n’t thet. Thet-thar streak is the mark of a wet rope—er mebby a grape-vine. Thet’s the way them devils git up an’ down. I’ll bet every stick o’ my mounting timber them cusses got a cave up thar, offen the ledge. P’rhaps Garry Hawks jest got up, since we-uns seen ’im. An’ the rock hain’t had time to dry from the rope, er vine, a-gittin’ wet in the falls. Dan Hodges thought he had a mighty cute place to lay out in. But he’s kotched jest the same—damn ’im!... Good dawg!” The change in Uncle Dick’s voice as he spoke the last two words was startling.
The two listeners accepted the old man’s solution, but they did not share his enthusiasm. On the contrary, they were very grave, for the task before them appeared formidable, if not impossible, of achievement. As they continued silent, gazing upward 210 with frowning faces, Uncle Dick regarded them at first in perplexity, then in rapidly-mounting apprehension.
“What’s a-bitin’ on ye?” he demanded, at last.
The marshal replied.
“There’s no way of getting them out of there. They’re armed and not particular about murder. They can hold that fort till kingdom-come. Dan could alone. There’s nothing for it but to starve ’em out—if they’re there.”
“And the trouble about that is,” Brant added, “that they’ve got the girl for hostage. It seems to me that this Dan Hodges has the whip-hand.”
For a little, Uncle Dick, who had paled under the tan, stood silent, looking helplessly from one to the other of his companions. Then he groaned aloud. But in the next instant, he straightened to his full height. His face grew convulsed with rage, as he faced the cliff, and his great voice volumed above the clamor of the cataract:
“God A’mighty damn ye, Dan Hodges! Damn ye—damn ye!”
And then again:
“Damn ye, Dan Hodges, ferever an’ ferever!”
Plutina’s treatment of Hodges had had a curious effect on that lawless character. The humiliation to which he had been subjected had indeed filled him with vicious rage, but, too, it had inflamed his passion for the girl. Her scorn and her fierce mastery of him had made her more than ever desirable. He was fascinated by the strength and courage she had displayed. Brutal and evil as he was, Hodges was strong physically, and, in his own wicked way, strong of will. Because he was stronger than his fellows, he ruled them. Strength was, in fact, the one thing that he could admire. The revelation of it in Plutina at once set her apart from all other women, and gave to his craving for her a clumsy sort of veneration. But that veneration was strangely modified by resolve to be avenged for the insult she had put upon him. Thus, it had come about that he planned to satisfy his varied feelings toward the girl by the abduction. He swore to master her, to change her insolence to fawning submission, to abject fondness.
Hodges wasted no time. His sluggish brain began its scheming the moment a turn in the trail hid 212 him from view, after the ignominious march from the Holloman Gate. At sunrise, next morning, he was lurking on the borders of the Siddon clearing, spying on the movements of the family. He even witnessed Plutina’s confession to her grandfather, of which he guessed the purport, and at which he cursed vilely beneath his breath. When Plutina set forth for the Cherry Lane post-office, he followed, slinking through the forest at a safe distance from the trail. He was not quite certain as to where or when he should attack the girl, but he meant to seize the first favorable opportunity, whether it came sooner or later. It came, as a matter of fact, very soon, and it was given by Plutina herself.
There at the fallen poplar, the girl found a comfortable nook on the big trunk, where her back was supported by a limb. The serenity of the scene soothed her over-wrought nerves. The sense of relief that had come from confession to her grandfather was less vivid now. In its stead was a blessed peacefulness. She watched lazily the visible details of forest life around about her. Her attention centered finally on a yellow-hammer, which was industriously boring the trunk of a dead chestnut. From the nest near-by, the callow young thrust naked heads, with bills gaping hungrily. Then, in a twinkling, birds and forest vanished, and 213 she was standing on the mist-strewn steeps of Stone Mountain, and Zeke’s arm was about her, and her hand was clasped in his. So, she slept, and smiled a little in her dreams, for the touch of the breeze on her cheek seemed the caress of her lover’s lips. From his lair in the laurel, Dan Hodges, watching, knew that his opportunity was come. The outlaw laid down his rifle, and drew from a pocket a stout leash of cowhide, a yard long. Glancing from time to time at his intended victim, to see that she still slept, he hastily fashioned a slip-noose at either end of the thong. This done, he began moving forward with the utmost caution, taking advantage of the cover, that he might remain invisible should the girl awake. He held the leash in his two hands ready for instant action. A slight detour brought him around the stump of the poplar, just behind Plutina. Advancing with even increased carefulness now, he approached until the girl was easily within his reach. As she reclined on the tree-trunk, her left hand hung at length on the side next to him. The right arm was bent along the supporting branch, and the hand pillowed her cheek. After a moment of doubt, Hodges decided that he would attempt to secure the free wrist in a noose of the leash without awakening her. It would be easy then to catch and bind the other wrist. In the confusion of sudden rousing from sleep, she would 214 make no effective resistance. The capture would be very simple.
It was, in truth, tragically simple, yet not so simple as the outlaw had anticipated. From dreams of tenderness, Plutina was suddenly started to hateful realization by the scarcely perceptible touch of this being so repugnant to her every instinct. She was confused, indeed, but not too confused for frantic resistance. It needed no more than recognition of the man’s brutal face so close to hers to inspire her. She fought him with every ounce of her strength. The left hand was useless, held down by his on the thong, with the noose drawn taut about the wrist. But the outlaw, though he contrived to get the other noose over her right hand, failed somehow to tighten it at once. She was able to strike at him again and again. Her blows fell on his face, and they were sturdy blows. Hodges made no effort to avoid them, nor struck back—only busied himself with the effort to tighten the noose. It was evident that he disdained her attack. A certain virile pride forbade defense against this onslaught of a girl. Finally, he brought his left hand to aid in adjusting the second noose. In the few seconds of liberty, Plutina abandoned blows, and resorted to savage clawing at the evil face. Her ten nails streaked the coarse features with blood. But still he seemed absolutely indifferent to such wounds 215 as she could inflict. Then, the noose slipped to tightness. The girl’s hands were brought close together behind her back, where she stood beside him. He knotted the slack of the leash, and holding the loop, grinned triumphantly at his captive. His bloody face was a mask of malice.
“Ye damned little wildcat,” he growled, yet with an unmistakable note of admiration in his voice, “if I sarved ye ’cordin’ to yer earnin’s, I’d shorely tap ye over thet-thar purty haid o’ your’n, an’ pitch ye over into the Devil’s Kittle, to wait fer yer runt lover to come arter ye.” He twisted her about viciously. Despite her strength, unusual in a woman, Plutina was powerless in his grip. Holding her close, face to face, he contemplated the girl’s pitiable distress with gloating eyes in which there was no faintest suggestion of pity. The prisoner met the malignant gaze for an instant. Then, her eyes fell, and she stood trembling. She was panting, partly from terror, partly from the violence with which she had struggled. Hodges chuckled, well content over the impression he had made. He would show her how a woman should be tamed! But the thing must be done in full accord with a plan he had made. Now that the captive had duly learned her first lesson in submissiveness, he might relax a little from his severity for a time. Besides, too much fright might leave her helpless on his 216 hands, which would be highly inconvenient, since there was a rough journey on foot before them. When he next spoke, he tried, without much success, to make his voice conciliatory.
“Thar hain’t no call fer ye to be so dum skeery—leastways, not yit. I hain’t a-hurtin’ ye none—not yit—only jest a-tyin’ yer han’s to keep ’em out o’ mischief. But I reckon as how ye’ll hev to eat them words ye spoke to me at the gate yistiddy. I ’low ye done forgot the warnin’ I gin ye ’bout playin’ Dan Hodges fer a fool. Ye’re lookin’ mighty sorry ye ever tried hit.” He chuckled again, as he meditated a humorous effort: “Ye know thet pore feller what ye winged yistiddy?” He shook his head reprovingly. “You-all shore hadn’t orter never ’ave done no sech thing. Garry wa’n’t a-bitin’ on ye none. He’s hurt bad, Garry is, an’ he needs a nuss the worst way, Garry does. An’ so I come an’ got ye.” He guffawed over his wit. “If ye’ll behave I’ll let loose o’ ye a mite, an’ we’ll stroll along a matter of a few mile to whar Garry’s waitin’ awful impatient.”
Suddenly, unreasoning fear surged up in Plutina, brimmed over in a torrent of pleading words. She knew the uselessness of appeal to this callous wretch. But the instinct of terror in her horrible situation mastered the girl, so that she forgot pride, and besought his mercy. She was ghastly pale, and 217 the dilated eyes were almost black, with a stricken look in their clouded depths. Her voice was shaking.
“Lemme go Dan—lemme go. Ye’ve done got even with me now fer yistiddy. Lemme go—I ax it of ye, Dan. I done ye dirt yistiddy, ’cause I was scared o’ ye. An’ I’m scared o’ ye now, Dan. Lemme go home, an’ I won’t never tell nobody how ye kotched me.”
She had raised her eyes beseechingly. Now, as she saw the smug mockery on her captor’s face, she fell silent. The futility of any pleading was too plain. Her eyes shifted to the ground again. But the first wild fear was past, and she began to think with some clearness. At once, it occurred to her that she must guard her strength jealously. She had already wasted too much in vain physical struggling and in vainer emotional outbursts. She must save her energies henceforth both of body and of mind, that she might have wherewith to contrive, escape and wherewith to accomplish it, or wherewith to fight against a lustful brute to the very death.
Hodges spoke approval.
“Ye’re gittin’ sense. Better save yer breath to cool yer porrich, stid o’ wastin’ hit a-whinin’ to me. But I shore admire fer to hear ye squawk. Ye hain’t quite so damned uppitty as ye was yistiddy.” 218
“I ’low I must do what ye says,” Plutina agreed, listlessly. She felt very weary, now that the reaction was upon her. At whatever cost, she must have an interval in which to recover from this weakness.
“Thet’s the ticket!” Hodges exclaimed, with a jovialty meant to be winning. He went behind her, and loosened the knot he had last tied, so that her wrists, although still fast bound, had a little play. The length of the loop allowed him to move by her side with it over his arm. “You-all jest mosey acrost to thet-thar birch clump,” he directed, pointing. “I got a rifle-gun yender, what I kain’t noways do without.”
Plutina walked obediently at his side in the direction indicated, and stood passively while he picked up the weapon. Then, in response to his command, she set off with him through the tortuous forest paths to the southward.
For the time being, Plutina’s dominant emotion was a vast depression. It bore down on her like a physical burden, under which she had hardly the power to go forward with slouching steps. It was as if the end of the world were come, with the loss of everything good and clean and happy. The only reality was this foul creature to whom she was bound, from whom there was no escape, who had but to speak and she must obey, who had the authority 219 to compel obedience. She was sick with horror of the man’s nearness. She felt defilement from the avid eyes, which moved over her in wanton lingering from head to foot, and back again. But she had no resource against him. She could only endure for the present, awaiting the return of strength. She could see no glimmer of hope anywhere. Yet, she strove numbly against this enveloping despair. She told herself again and again that, somehow, relief would come before the dreaded crisis. The words were spiritless; they brought no conviction. Nevertheless, she kept repeating them mutely to herself, as she trudged drearily beside Hodges toward Stone Mountain.
“I’ll git clar o’ him somehow—I will, I will! Gran’pap’ll kill ’im! Zeke’ll come! He will!”
It was incredible that her lover could come, that he could even know of the evil, until too late to save her. Yet, the thought of his coming subtly cheered her. It persisted in defiance of all reason. And the affrighted girl clung to it with desperate tenacity, as a drowning man to the life line. She kept repeating to herself, “Zeke’ll come! He will, he will!” as if the phrases were a spell for the soothing of terror. She wished that her hands were free to touch the fairy crystal in her bosom.
The outlaw, after uncouth efforts at conversation, which met with no response, relapsed into sullen 220 silence, and he mended the pace until the girl was hard put to it to keep up with his stride. On the first slopes of Stone Mountain, he halted, evidently at a spot where he had camped on other occasions, for presently he produced a skillet and coffee-pot and materials for a rude meal from their concealment in the bushes. But his first care was to place the prisoner on a log, where a sapling at her back served for attaching the loop of the leash. He then busied himself with making a fire and preparing the food, from time to time jeering at the helpless girl, who watched him with smouldering hate in her eyes.
“Hit’s you-all orter be a-doin’ these-hyar chores,” he declared, with a grin. “An’ they’s a good time a-comin’ when ye’ll be plumb tickled to death to wait on yer Danny boy. A good time comin’, cuss ye!”
He devoured his food ravenously, washing it down with the coffee. Finally, he brought slices of bread and bacon to Plutina, and laid them in her lap. He loosened her right hand and so permitted her to feed herself. It was her impulse to refuse the offering, but she resisted the folly, knowing the necessity of food, if she would have energy for the ordeal before her. So, she gulped down the bread and meat, and drank from the dipper full 221 of coffee. Then, her bonds were tightened again, and the two renewed their march.
The going was harder here, up and down the rock-strewn slopes. Fatigue lay very heavy on Plutina, after the strains of the two days. Only her hate of the man at her side bolstered up pride, so that she compelled herself to keep moving by sheer force of will. It was already dusk, when, at last, they issued from the wood and went forward over the shore of the pool at Sandy Creek Falls.
“Wall, hyar we be!” Hodges cried loudly. There was satisfaction in his voice.
That satisfaction aroused Plutina from the apathy into which she had fallen, during the last half-mile of difficult scrambling, made more toilsome by the constraint of her bound wrists. Now, puzzlement provoked interest in her surroundings. She had expected that the outlaw would bear her away to the most convenient or the most inaccessible of the various secret retreats with which rumor credited him. But here was neither cave nor shack—only the level space of sand, the mist-wreathed pool, the rushing volume of the falls, the bleak wall of the cliff which towered above them where they had halted at its base. She knew this place. There could be no cavern at hand. Her eyes searched the space of the inclosure wonderingly. 222 Then, they went to the man, whom she found regarding her bewilderment with a smirk of gratification.
“Hyar we be, right on the door-step, so to say,” he bellowed. “If ye kain’t see the door-step yit, ye will mighty quick, unless thet pore feller ye shot has gone an’ died a-waitin’ fer you-all to come an’ nuss ’im.... Yep, he was a-watchin’, all right,” he added briskly. “Hyar hit comes!”
Plutina’s eyes followed her captor’s and, far above, she made out something that dangled from the slight break in the cliff. It descended slowly and jerkily, with haphazard gyrations. As its end drew closer, she perceived that it was a rudely constructed rope-ladder, with wooden rungs. She watched it fascinated, shivering with new fears.
When the flimsy means of ascent hung at its full length, Hodges bade the girl climb. Unnerved as she already was, the ordeal of such a progress to the mysterious height above seemed too terrible. She refused mutely, shaking her head, and cowering away from the outlaw as far as the thong permitted. But the man had no pity for her timorousness.
“You-all kin jest nacherly crawl up thet-thar ladder,” he announced, “or we’ll sling ye on the end of a rope, an’ h’ist ye. Thet’ll tumble ye round an’ bump ye agin the rocks quite some. But 223 ye’re the doctor. If ye’ll climb up, I’ll leave yer han’s loose, an’ foller cluss behind ye, so ye kain’t fall. Hit’s shore wobbly, but hit’s safe. Dan Hodges hain’t aimin’ to git his neck broke—ner to let the law break it fer him!” he added, in a lower tone to himself.
But Plutina caught the words. She made nothing of them at the time; afterward, she realized their significance, and thanked God for them.
In the end, the prisoner yielded to necessity and ventured to mount with reluctant slowness. She found, to her intense relief, that the strength was returning to her body. She no longer felt the pervasive lassitude. The physical improvement reacted on her mind to restore confidence in her powers. She realized that probably the only danger lay in her own faltering, and she resolved to overcome her natural dread, to bend all her energies to a safe performance of the task. Despite her hatred of the man, she found unspeakable comfort in the sight of his great hairy hands clutching the ropes on either side of her at the height of her waist. But, as she mounted, the space beneath grew fearsome to her, and she raised her eyes and held them steadily on the distance above, as she had learned to do in clambering with her lover.
Somehow, now, the thought of Zeke heartened 224 Plutina. Swinging dizzily in the abyss, with the arms of her jailer about her, there flowed into her soul a new courage. It was without reason, an absurdity, a folly, but, oh, what a solace to her spirit! Under the stimulus of it, she ascended more rapidly. The pinched, ugly face of Garry Hawks, glowering down at her from the ledge, did not dismay her, even though the thought flashed on her brain that now this man whom she had wounded could hurl her to destruction by a touch. She had no fear of him; only pressed upward steadily. In another moment, her head passed above the level of the ledge. She took the hand Garry Hawks held out and climbed upon the narrow support, where she shrank back against the cliff, after one glance into the gulf yawning at her feet. The level space was a scant yard in width here, and lessened on the side away from the falls, until it ceased entirely. In the other direction, it ran, broadening a very little, to where a tiny cleft showed in the precipice. Plutina guessed that this marked the entrance to a cavern. Despite the bravery of her changed mood, the eerie retreat daunted her by its desolate isolation. Then, Hodges climbed upon the ledge, and she heard his shout, coming faintly to her ears above the roar of the cascade which fell just beyond the cavern’s mouth.
“Welcome, home, Honey!” he bawled, with his 225 detested jocularity. “They hain’t nobody a-goin’ to butt in on our love-makin’ up hyar.”
Tittering and leering, he seized the girl by the arm, and led her, unresisting, to the cranny that was the door of the cave. A glance over her shoulder showed Garry Hawks on his knee, hauling up the ladder. She knew that with its disappearance there would remain nought by which the searchers could guess whither she had vanished, or how. Once again, courage went out of her. In its place was despair.
The cave into which Plutina now entered was a small, uneven chamber, some three yards in width at its highest point. It extended back for a little way, but the roof sloped downward so sharply that only in the central space could the girl stand upright, and even there Hodges had to stoop. On the far side was a hole in the rocky wall. It was hardly a yard in height, but the faint glow that marked it was proof that it reached to the daylight outside. At the best, it could serve as a passage-way only to one creeping on hands and knees. So much Plutina perceived in the first curious survey of her prison. The inspection was rendered possible by the murky light of a tallow candle, fixed in its own grease to a fragment of stone near the center of the cavern.
As the outlaw released his hold on her arm, the girl sank down listlessly on a part of the wall that projected like a bench near the entrance. She leaned back against the cold stone, and her eyes closed. She felt a terrifying weakness, against which she battled with what strength she could summon. She 227 dared not swoon, and so leave herself wholly helpless within the power of this man. She was white and trembling, but by force of will she held herself from falling, though her muscles seemed fluid as milk, and blackness whirled before her eyes.
Nevertheless, Hodges was not minded to have a fainting woman on his hands. His prisoner’s appearance alarmed him, and he hurried to a corner of the cave, whence he quickly returned with a cup half-full of whiskey. This he held to Plutina’s lips. She accepted the service, for she could not lift a hand, so great was her weakness. She swallowed a part of the draught, and the strong liquor warmed and strengthened her. She was so far restored soon as to understand Hodges’ closing sentence, for he had been mumbling at her.
“Ye hain’t so damned skittish as ye was yistiddy,” he jeered.
Plutina had no spirit to reply. She could only sit in abject lassitude, content to feel the glow of the stimulant creeping through her veins. For a time, her thoughts were stilled by the bodily torpor. She welcomed the respite, glad to rest from the horror of her plight. She heard the raucous voice of the outlaw booming in her ears, but she paid no heed. She saw Garry Hawks come into the cavern, waddling under the burden of the rope-ladder, which he carried clumsily by reason of the wound in his 228 arm. She observed that the outlaw said something to his minion, putting his lips close to the fellow’s ear, lest he be overheard. But she felt no curiosity as to the purport of this secret utterance, nor did she take interest when, immediately afterward, she beheld the wounded man get down on all fours and crawl out of sight through the hole in the opposite side of the cave.
Little by little, the prisoner’s forces came back to her. Of a sudden, she aroused with a start, as though she had been asleep, albeit without any consciousness of having slept. She felt a new alertness now through all her members, and her brain was clear. Along with this well-being came again appreciation of the dreadfulness of her case. She grew rigid under the shock of dire realization, tensing her muscles, without volition, as if to repel attack. Her eyes went fearfully to Hodges, who sprawled at ease on a heap of spruce boughs across the cavern from her. The man was puffing lazily at a corncob pipe. The rank, acrid smell of the tobacco-smoke came to her nostrils, strangely home-like in this weird prison cell, aloft within the crags. She perceived, with infinite relief, that for the moment he appeared absorbed in his thoughts, disregardful of her presence. At least, she would have opportunity to fortify her spirit against the fear that beset her. She must ape bravery, even though she 229 sickened with terror. Thus only could she hope to daunt the creature that threatened her. She had only moral strength with which to resist him. Physically, she would be as a child in his grasp, notwithstanding her quick, firm muscles. In a bodily contest, there could be but the single issue, her vanquishment. It would be hardly more than sport to him, the utmost of her frenzied strugglings. She saw the bloody marks of her fingers on his face, and remembered his stolid seeming of indifference to her fury. He had scorned her strength then. So, he would continue to scorn it—with reason, since it could by no means avail against him. No, she must have recourse to strength of will rather, to awe and intimidate him. She knew the folly of such means against the brutal desire of the man. But she clung to it as a meed of hope, because she had naught else to which to cling. Without a hope, even the falsest, she must have gone mad.
One thing seemed favoring for the time. The man was evidently sober. Plutina wondered at that, for Hodges was not often sober, and excess of liquor was an accustomed part in all his pleasures. His abstinence now puzzled her, but it relieved her, too, since it promised some postponement of his worst advances. Thus encouraged, she set herself to review the situation in detail, in forlorn attempt to come on a way of escape. But a half-hour of 230 effort left her distraught. She could devise nothing to suit her need. Only one thought remained for tragical comfort in her wretchedness: In her last extremity, she might cast herself from the cliff. Better a thousand times clean death than defilement.... Plutina remembered her grandfather’s regret over her having spared the outlaw. Now, with her finger on the trigger, there would have been no faltering, only joy and thanksgiving.
The defenseless girl watched furtively. When, at last, Hodges stirred from his indolent sprawl, knocked the dottle from his pipe, and looked up at her, she shrank visibly. The blood rushed back to her heart in a flood, leaving her pallid, and she was trembling. Even in the feeble light from the guttering candle, Hodges could perceive her disturbance. It gratified him, and he laughed, in sinister glee over her emotion.
“I ’low ye’re gittin’ some tame since yistiddy,” he exclaimed. He got to his feet slowly, whereat Plutina looked toward the entrance cleft, ready if the need came, to fly from him to the more merciful abyss. But Hodges moved toward the back of the cave where he brought out a stone jug from its niche, and returned to the bed of boughs. Seated again, he filled the tin cup full of spirits, and drank it down. With the pipe recharged and burning, he continued to sit in silence, regarding the girl with 231 an unswerving intentness that tortured her. At short intervals, he replenished the cup and quaffed it thirstily. He was rapidly compensating for his earlier abstinence. Plutina, studying him covertly, noted the beginnings of drunkenness and its various stages. There was gruesome fascination in her scrutiny; for she knew that her honor rested on the hazard of a sot’s whim.
Suddenly, the girl knew that the peril was very close upon her. Hodges was staring at her from his reddened eyes with a rampant lustfulness that was unmistakable. Again, she measured the distances, to make sure that the last desperate means of escape from his embraces lay open still. She meant, in the final crisis, to spring to the crevice, before he could approach within reach of her. There, with the verge of the cliff only a step away, she would make her plea, with death in the gulf as the alternative of failure, the ultimate safeguard of honor.
There could be no doubt concerning the imminence of the danger. The usually red face of the outlaw was mottled purple, congested by the stimuli of liquor and passion. The thick under-lip hung slackly, quivering from time to time in the convulsive tremors of desire that ran over him. A high light fell on the man’s neck, where the open shirt left it bare. Plutina’s gaze was caught by the 232 slight rise and fall of the flesh above the artery. The movement was made distinguishable across the cavern by the effects of light and shade. The girl found herself mechanically counting the throbs. The rapidity of them amazed her. They witnessed the fever raging in his blood—the fever that clamored for assuagement from her. The galloping pulse enthralled her with horror. It made visible the vile fires raging in him. So swift the rhythm grew that a hideous hope sprang up in the watcher—hope that an apoplexy might stretch the man dead at her feet.
Hodges reached for the jug, and poured from it into the cup, and drank. The girl perceived that, in the few seconds, his mood had changed utterly. The purple of his face was dingy with gray. He was trembling now. His eyes moved restlessly, as if fearful of something to issue from the darkness. Not once did they rest on her. She remembered the racing pulse in his throat, and looked for it. To her astonishment, it was no longer to be seen, though the light fell on the place as before. She knew then that the fever had died, and she marveled mightily. But she recognized more, for she was unharmed still. The changed mood of her enemy promised immunity, for a time at least.
Yet once again, the outlaw drank. Then, without a word to the prisoner, or so much as a look in 233 her direction, he got down on his hands and knees, and crawled out of sight through the hole in the wall.
For what seemed to her ages, Plutina waited for his return, dreading a new, obscene mood. But the time dragged on, and there was no sign of his coming. The candle flared and smoked, went out. The girl huddled in the dark, listening now, for her eyes could not pierce the blackness. The roar of the waterfall filled her ears. The noise dismayed her, for it must inevitably cover all lesser sounds, even those close at hand. Any evil might leap on her without warning, out of the darkness. She felt her helplessness multiplied, intolerable, thus blinded and deafened. She longed to shriek, pitting shrill clamor against the bass thunders of the cascade. She began to fear lest madness seize her if she remained longer thus supinely crouching amid the terrors of this place. Obeying a sudden impulse, she got up, and gropingly, with shuffling, cautious steps, moved across the cavern. When she reached the opposite wall, she got down on hands and knees, and crawled until her searching fingers found the emptiness of the hole through which the men had passed. Then, she drew back a little, and sat with alert ears, sure that none could issue into the cavern now without her knowledge.
The relief afforded by the action soon waned. 234 Terrors crowded on her again in the second period of waiting. In desperation, she determined to explore the hole itself. She tried to examine the project carefully and found nothing to stay her purpose. Joy leaped in her at the thought that a way of escape even might be ready to her hand. She believed it more likely, however, that the passage led merely to another chamber in the cliff. If such should be the case, and either or both of the men were sleeping there, she could probably ascertain the fact readily without being herself discovered, since here the sound of the falls was muffled. Forthwith, she crept slowly within the opening.
The progress was snail-like. The rough rock of the floor cut into her knees cruelly, but she disregarded the pain, and went forward. She tested each inch of the way by feeling over the stones with her hands, on either side and along the floor. The narrowness of the passage, which was hardly more than its height, rendered thorough examination easy. She found no lateral openings, nor did the space grow perceptibly larger. It suddenly occurred to her, after having advanced steadily, though very slowly, for five minutes, that she could not turn around. To return, she must back out. The idea appalled her, and she meditated retreat. Then, while she was yet undecided, the hand groping in front of 235 her touched on stone above the floor level. A short investigation proved that here the passage was barred. She could feel space between the edges of the tunnel and the mass of stone that closed it. Since there was no other point of egress, both men must have passed through. Afterward, the opening had been closed by rolling a heavy rock before it. She put her strength in pressure against the stone, without avail. It was too heavy for her muscles. She realized that by this simple means she was shut within her prison. It was almost with relief that she began to creep backward—to be astounded by the shortness of the way. It was scarcely a minute before she was in the chamber again. To guard against surprise in the darkness, she pushed the couch of boughs a little way along the wall, so that it projected across the mouth of the tunnel. This done, she seated herself on the branches, assured that no one could enter the cavern without giving her warning. Even should she sleep, the thrusting away of the boughs from the orifice must surely awaken her.
Nevertheless, Plutina did not expect the boon of sleep, though she longed for it with aching intensity. In spite of this temporary respite, she could see no way of escape from the outlaw’s power, except by death. The vagaries of a drunken mood had saved her to-night: they could 236 not save her for long. And, then, even while she mourned the hopelessness of her case, oblivion fell on her, and she slept the reposeful, dreamless slumber of utter exhaustion.
A violent shaking of the bed of boughs startled the prisoner back to consciousness. For the fraction of a second, her mind was chaos. Then remembrance came, and rending fear. But there was one comfort—day had dawned: she could see. There was no one with her in the chamber. The moving branches warned that the intruder was still in the tunnel. There was time for her to gain the crevice, where she could forbid any approach, where if her command failed, she could throw herself from the cliff. She darted across the width of the room, and stood in the cleft, strained back against the rock, her eyes staring affrightedly toward the opposite wall. All her woman’s terrors were crashing upon her now. She felt Death clawing at her over the brow of the ledge, fierce to drag her into the depths. One of the hands clutching at her bosom touched the fairy crystal, and she seized it despairingly, and clung to it, as if the secret spell of it might hold her back to life.
Abruptly, a broken cry of relief fluttered from her lips, for she saw the shock head of Garry Hawks thrust from the tunnel’s mouth. Toward him, she felt no fear, only contempt. In the reaction, 237 she trembled so that she could hardly stand, and for a few moments her eyes closed. Only the rock against which she leaned saved her from crumbling to the floor. The weakness passed very quickly, however, and she was again mistress of herself by the time Hawks had scrambled to his feet.
The fellow had little to say, answering surlily the questions put to him by Plutina. He plainly cherished animosity against the girl who had wounded him, which was natural enough. As plainly, he did not dare vent his spite too openly against the object of his chief’s fondness. He brought with him a bag containing bread and a liberal allowance of cooked slices of bacon, and a jug of water. His information was to the effect that Hodges would not return until nightfall. He left in the fashion of his coming, by the tunnel. Plutina immediately replaced the boughs, and, when she had eaten and drunk, again seated herself on the rough bed. From time to time, she went to the crevice, and stared out over the wild landscape longingly. But the height gave her a vertigo if she stepped forth upon the ledge. For that reason, she did not venture outside the crevice after a single attempt, which set her brain reeling. She remained instead well within the cleft, where she was unaffected by the height, while able to behold the vast reaches of sunlit 238 space before her. The area about the foot of the precipice was, however, cut off from her vision. So it came about that, though she went twice to the crevice and looked out during the intervals while the marshal, first with his men and afterward with her grandfather, was searching about the pool, she knew nothing concerning the nearness of aid. She could not see the men, and the din of the falls covered their voices.
Occasionally, the girl lapsed into a quietude that was half-stupor and half-sleep, the while she reclined on the boughs. These were blessed periods of rest for the over-strained nerves, and she strove to prolong them—always in vain. For the most part, she hurried about with febrile, aimless movements. She found herself wondering often if to-day were to be the last of her life. She could see no other issue. The night would bring Hodges, and the crisis of her fate. She could not hope for a second escape through a drunken vagary. There would be only the leap from the ledge to-night. As she stood in the crevice, and looked out on the smiling sylvan glory of the scene, as the soft summer breeze caressed her cheeks, and the balsamic air filled her bosom with its gently penetrant vigors, she realized as never before the miracle of life, its goodness and sweet savors. She cried out against the hideous thing that was come upon her. The 239 every fiber of her being flamed in revolt against the idea of death. Every atom of her clamored for life and love. And there were only shame and death for her choice. She took out the fairy crystal, and prayed to the sacred sign it bore, beholding it dimly though scalding tears. But faith flickered and went out. Her soul sickened.... For her, there was nothing else—just shame and death. No—only death.
Plutina would have tried escape by the rope-ladder, but she found its weight too much for her strength, so sorely over-tried by racking emotions. Even had she been able to carry the burden it would have availed nothing, for the dizziness attacked her whenever she drew near the verge. In her desperation, she even crept the length of the tunnel a second time, on the faint chance that the exit might now be less secure. She found the rock barrier immovable as before, though the rim of light showed that here was, in very truth, the way to freedom, and she pushed frantically at the obstacle until utterly exhausted.
It was when evening drew down that, at last, there sounded the noise of a writhing body within the tunnel, and, from her point of refuge close to the crevice, she saw the outlaw crawl out of the passage, and stand before her like a demon of the darkness, leering at her fatuously. 240
“You-all is shore makin’ quite a visit,” he remarked, with heavy sarcasm.
“An’ it kain’t he’p ye none, Dan,” Plutina retorted. “I hates ye, an’ yer keepin’ me hyar hain’t goin’ to do ye no good. If ye goes fer to lay a finger on me, I’ll go over the cliff. I’m worse scairt o’ yer touchin’ me than I be o’ the rocks down thar, Dan.” Her voice was colorless, but an undertone of finality ran in it.
The outlaw regarded her sharply from his inflamed eyes. It may be that her sincerity impressed him. Yet, he betrayed no feeling as he answered, carelessly:
“Hain’t no call fer ye to be so damned ornery. I hain’t a-goin’ to tech ye—yit. We’ll be together quite a spell, I reckon—till I gits sick o’ havin’ ye round. If I wanted ye I could jump ye easy from hyar. I’m some spry, if I be big. But ye needn’t be skeered, I’m tellin’ ye. I hain’t a-goin’ to tech ye—yit.”
The final monosyllable was charged with sinister import, but the man’s assurance of her present safety was, somehow, convincing, and she accepted it with the emotional gratitude of one sentenced to death who receives a reprieve. She sank down on the stone bench near the crevice, and watched her jailer with unwavering attention, while he produced a candle from his pocket, and lighted it, and 241 had recourse again to the stone jug of whiskey, which had remained by the bed of boughs.
To-night, the fiery drams made him garrulous, and he discussed his affairs, his hopes, and plans, with a freedom that showed how complete was his expectation of retaining the girl in his power. Thus, Plutina learned of the search being made for her, which was now the active cause in changing the outlaw’s purpose in the immediate disposal of his prisoner.
“I was aimin’ to lay low with ye right hyar,” he explained, after his fourth sup of the spirits. “But I reckon hit’s a goin’ to be a heap safer to skedaddle. I ain’t a-wantin’ no damned dawgs fer to chaw me up. So I’m goin’ to mosey over Bull Head t’-morrer. You-all ’ll go ’long, nice an’ peaceable—er ye’ll be drug.” He spoke with a snarl now. “Ye’ll know hit, when I once git ye cross the state line—cuss ye! Ye’ll find I hain’t so damned shy, arter all!”
Plutina cowered before the savage threat in the words. There was no mistaking the expression in the lustful eyes burning on her. His regard was in itself contamination. It was the prophecy of worse, of the final wickedness, to come. The afflicted girl thrilled with loathing before the satyr-like aspect of this man, foul of flesh and soul. But, along with abhorrence of the creature who held her 242 in his keeping so ruthlessly, there was another emotion—that recurrent wonder concerning such delay in the base gratification craved by his passion. She could not doubt the fierce longing that seethed in his veins. It was like a visible thing flaming from him; and tangible, for she felt the impact of those brutal desires thronging against the white shield of her own purity, powerless to penetrate, yet nauseating her by the unclean impact. What, then, interposed to check him? What hidden force held him back from working his will against her? She could make no surmise. Certainly, here was no physical restraint to stay him. As certainly, no moral reason would be of effect. The thing was altogether mysterious. So, she marveled mightily, and was curious to understand, even while she thanked God for the further respite. And now, too, hope began to burn again. Surely, if she were to accompany him on the trails as he had said, there would come the opportunity for escape. He could not be on guard ceaselessly. Vigilance must relax on occasion. It would not be then as here in this dreadful cavern, perched ’twixt earth and sky.... She broke off to listen, for the outlaw, having filled his pipe and drained a deep draught of the liquor, was become loquacious again. This time, thanks to the drink, he waxed confidential, intimate even. 243
“I kin git away from hyar, an’ no damned dawg kain’t foller my tracks, nuther. Er if he does, he’ll drap inter the Devil’s Kittle. But I knows my way ’bout in these-hyar mountings. An’ ye needn’t be afeared o’ losin’ me, Honey. I’ll hang onto ye good an’ tight. When I git ye over the line, I’ll have a parson, if ye want. I hain’t a-keerin’ one way, or t’other. But I got to have ye, willin’ or not willin’, parson or no parson. I’d hev ye t’-night if ’twan’t fer jest one cussed thing. Hit’s a’mighty hard to hev yer blood a-b’ilin’, till ye’re like to bust jest ’cause of a slip of a gal, what ye could smash in yer two han’s—an’ her so high an’ mighty!” The querulous voice ceased, while he had recourse again to the stone jug.
When next he spoke, it was evident that his mood had changed. He was no longer harshly self-assertive, vainglorious, or brutally frank concerning the passion that consumed him. He was, instead, strangely reminiscent, with involuntary revelation of the weakness that preyed upon him. The girl was grateful for the change in him, but her bewilderment increased.
“I seen a feller hung once,” Hodges said. His guttural, awed tones were hushed almost to a whisper. “They pulled a black cap down over ’is face, so’s he couldn’t see nothin’ ’bout what he was up ag’inst. An’ his han’s was tied together behind 244 ’is neck, with the knot up under his ear—’is left ear, I ’member hit was. I ’member partic’lar.”
The speaker’s gaze had been downcast; not once had he looked at Plutina. It was as if he had forgotten the girl’s presence there with him, and communed aloud with his own gristly memories of the death-scene he had witnessed. His huge bulk seemed somehow shrunken—a physical shriveling in response to the craven fear in his soul. That gray, mottled purple of his face showed again. Plutina wondered, if, indeed, this same memory had been in his thoughts the night before. But, if so, it only made the thing the more inexplicable. Why should a hanging, long-past, thus haunt him? He was no nervous weakling, to be tortured by imaginary fears. Yet, now, he displayed unmistakable signs of terror, in his voice, his eyes, his whole mien, in the shaking haste that spilled the half of the drink he poured out.
“I seen ’im hung,” he repeated, abjectly. “They let the trap drap from under his feet—an’ ’im all tied, an’ thet-thar black cap pulled down over ’is face to blind ’im. Hit were plumb awful fer to see ’im drap. An’ then the rope stopped ’im right in the air. Hit were a drefful yank he got. They say, hit broke ’is neck, so’s he didn’t feel nothin’ more. But I dunno. Hit looked like he felt a heap, fer he kicked an’ squirmed like hell. Hit weren’t 245 purty fer to see. I’ve seen a big bull-frog what I’ve speared kick an’ squirm jest like ’im. No, hit weren’t purty. I’d shore hate fer to have my neck bruk thet-thar way. Damn the law, anyhow! They hadn’t orter treat no white man thet-thar way. Hit must feel awful, a-standin’ up thar, with thet-thar cap down over ye, shuttin’ out everythin’—ferever; an’ with thet-thar noose round yer neck, an’ the knot a-ticklin’ yer ear—yer left ear. I ’member specially. An’ a-knowin’ the noose is a-goin’ to tighten, an’ cut off yer breath—fer always. An’ a-standin’ on thet-thar trap, an’ a-knowin’ hit’s goin’ to drap—a-knowin’ the bottom’s a-goin’ to drap right out o’—everythin’! I don’t never want my neck bruk no sech way’s thet. Hit hain’t right.”
Plutina, staring wide-eyed, saw to her stupefaction that tears trickled from the eyes of the maudlin man; she heard him whimpering. Once more, he poured himself a drink. He mumbled unintelligibly for a little. Then, of a sudden, his voice rose in a last flare of energy, before he rolled on the boughs in sodden slumber.
“Damn the law in this-hyar state! Hit hain’t right, nohow. Jest ’cause a feller loves a gal—to hang ’im! I hain’t afeared o’ nothin’ else, s’fur’s I knows, but I’d hate fer to have my neck bruk like his’n was. I hain’t a-takin’ no chancet o’ thet. I’ll 246 wait till I’m over the line. But hit’s hell to crave a woman!”
Raucous snores told the girl that the man slept, that again she had passed through the ordeal in safety. And now, at last, she knew the cause of her escape thus far. The mystery that had baffled her was a mystery no longer. Out of the creature’s own mouth had come the explanation. Driven on by gusty passion as he was, a yet stronger emotion triumphed over lust. Of imagination he had little, but he had seen a man hanged. His memory of that death had been her salvation, for such is the punishment meted to the violator of a woman in North Carolina. In Dan Hodges, that master emotion, lust, had met a mightier—fear. Because he was a coward, he had not ventured even the least caress, lest passion seize him and make him mad—forgetful of how that other man died so horribly. She had been spared because between him and her a scaffold loomed.