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lithe torso to her arms' length, her waist still held in his arms, and looked at him with horror in her eyes.

Abner scrambled desperately after the topic, confused by a twitching in his breast. "But—but he shot Tug Beavers. . . ."

"What of that! You're not the executioner! You're not the law!"

"I—no, I'm not the law—I'm not—" he tried to recall the arguments Mrs. Roxie Biggers had used in favour of mob rule. They flickered out under a queer compressed feeling in his chest. His heart began a steadily accelerated pounding. Almost unaware of what he was doing he leaned down and pressed his lips to the girl's mouth.

There came a motionless silence. He felt a little quiver go through Nessie. She moved her head away and breathed in a faint voice, "Oh—don't do that. . . ."

His fingers shook so that he could hardly control them as he pressed her face back to his own.

She tried to pull away and mumbled, "Don't, Abner—please don't . . ."

His voice came out, shaken by his heartbeats. "You—you love me—don't you?"

She said nothing to this but pushed away from him in the circle of his arms, shaking as if with an ague. Abner swallowed drily. "You do—love me—I know you do." Her continued opposition somehow inflamed him. He kissed her again roughly. Her lips felt so soft and warm. She still tried to move her head, but at his growing violence relaxed weakly in his arms. With his lips still pressed to hers one of the teamster's trembling hands began exploring the rondures of her form. He pushed her door shut with his foot.

Once, later, she half gasped, half sobbed, "Oh—oh—Abner—please, p-l-e-a-s-e—"

The teamster was fetched back to the drama of village life by the softened report of a distant volley of shots. A kind of slow shock travelled through Abner and delivered