They went very quietly, the girl
on tip-toe, and Peter making no sound with his soft footpads, so
that Jed Hawkins was still on his knees, with his back toward
them, when they came out into a square of pebbles and sand between
two giant masses of rock. Yesterday, or the day before, both Peter
and Nada would have slunk back, for Jed was at his devil's work,
and only evil could come to the one who discovered him at it. He
had scooped out a pile of sand from under the edge of the biggest
rock, and was filling half a dozen grimy leather flasks from a jug
which he had pulled from the hole. And then he paused to drink.
They could hear the liquor gurgling down his throat.
Nada tapped the end of her stick against the rock, and like a shot
the man whirled about to face them. His face turned livid when he
saw who it was, and he drew himself up until he stood on his feet,
his two big fists clenched, his yellow teeth snarling at her.
"You damned--spy!" he cried chokingly. "If you was a man--I'd kill
you!"
The girl did not shrink. Her face did not whiten. Two bright spots
flamed in her cheeks, and Hawkins saw the triumph shining in her
eyes. And there was a new thing in the odd twist of her red lips,
as she said tauntingly.
"If I was a man, Jed Hawkins--you'd run!"
He took a step toward her.
"You'd run," she repeated, meeting him squarely, and taking a
tighter grip of her stick.
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