"Open, I say!"
For a moment Laroux faced her squarely, the man who had tied himself to
her hand, pledged himself to forge the way to the Whispering Hills, who
followed her compelling leadership as these lesser men had turned to
follow his but now. Then he set his will to hers.
"I will not," he said quietly.
With no more words she flung herself upon the gate and tore at the
chains, her strong hands able as a man's. As the sight of her in peril
had worked for both weakness and strength in Dupre, so had McElroy's
plight affected her. That helpless moment was the one defection of her
dauntless life.
Now again she was herself, reaching for the thing of the moment, and
the roar outside the palisade, constantly rising in volume, in menace
and savagery, brushed out of her brain every cloud of shock. Laroux
caught her from behind, pinioning her arms.
"Maren," he said quietly, "hear me. Out there are five hundred warriors
wild as the heart of the Pays d'en Haut, howling over the body of their
dying chief. What would be the opening of the gate but the massacre of
all within? Could forty men take the factor from them? There would be
but as many more scalps on their belts as there are heads within the
post.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150