jackals and fighting desperately for life against great odds.
"He is force! He is power!" a voice seemed to whisper to her, a strange voice never before heard by her inner ear of the soul. "If he fights this way to save himself, how would he battle to protect one beloved by him!"
Came a moment when the girl realized the pulse beat of Original's rifle was stilled; she could not recall how long had been the interval of complete silence in the cabin. Cold terror struck at her heart. Painfully she worked herself to an elbow, thence to a sitting position which brought her eyes over the top of the barricade.
She saw Zang sitting, back against the fireplace, with his head turned to bring his fixed gaze on something beyond. Following this gaze, her eyes fell upon a sprawling figure against the wall.
It was the man who had mastered her, muscle against muscle. He lay like one asleep, head across the tip of the rifle and pillowed on an arm. From beneath his body a slow black stream pushed out across the cabin floor.
Then the cabin door was cautiously thrust half open. A revolver's wicked snout slowly
