"No!" she
panted vehemently. "No, no!"
"Tell yer it's Crane's gal," insisted the second man. "They live
over yonder on the island. I pointed it aout a-comin' through the
woods, the day you landed up here, Mr. Hemsley."
"Have you any claim on this girl?" demanded Hemsley, wheeling
upon the stranger.
"Touchin' claims," returned the other, with sure emphasis, "I am
not for filin' mine with the first party immediately convenient.
The claim is filed O. K. elsewhere, and at present, as you're
prospectin' on the hither side o' my line, I'll put one straight
question to you: Did, or did not, Little Peachey ask you for
protection?"
"Why, no," retorted Hemsley, a trifle confused, "she didn't--not
in so many words." He turned to the girl. "Who is this man? Tell
me everything; you needn't be afraid, Miss Crane."
"I'm not afraid!" she flashed sullenly. "He was a-layin' in
Ragged Woods this afternoon, an' he carried my berry basket home
an' stayed to supper. And afterward he caught hold o' me, he did,
an' tried to kiss me; an' I ran away 'cause--'cause I hate him. I
hate him!"
Her shrill cry ended in a passionate gesture. Wheeling, she
marched down the slope to the water's edge, where she stood
looking out into the night.
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