The cave into which Plutina now entered was a small, uneven chamber, some three yards in width at its highest point. It extended back for a little way, but the roof sloped downward so sharply that only in the central space could the girl stand upright, and even there Hodges had to stoop. On the far side was a hole in the rocky wall. It was hardly a yard in height, but the faint glow that marked it was proof that it reached to the daylight outside. At the best, it could serve as a passage-way only to one creeping on hands and knees. So much Plutina perceived in the first curious survey of her prison. The inspection was rendered possible by the murky light of a tallow candle, fixed in its own grease to a fragment of stone near the center of the cavern.

As the outlaw released his hold on her arm, the girl sank down listlessly on a part of the wall that projected like a bench near the entrance. She leaned back against the cold stone, and her eyes closed. She felt a terrifying weakness, against which she battled with what strength she could summon. She 227 dared not swoon, and so leave herself wholly helpless within the power of this man. She was white and trembling, but by force of will she held herself from falling, though her muscles seemed fluid as milk, and blackness whirled before her eyes.

Nevertheless, Hodges was not minded to have a fainting woman on his hands. His prisoner’s appearance alarmed him, and he hurried to a corner of the cave, whence he quickly returned with a cup half-full of whiskey. This he held to Plutina’s lips. She accepted the service, for she could not lift a hand, so great was her weakness. She swallowed a part of the draught, and the strong liquor warmed and strengthened her. She was so far restored soon as to understand Hodges’ closing sentence, for he had been mumbling at her.

“Ye hain’t so damned skittish as ye was yistiddy,” he jeered.

Plutina had no spirit to reply. She could only sit in abject lassitude, content to feel the glow of the stimulant creeping through her veins. For a time, her thoughts were stilled by the bodily torpor. She welcomed the respite, glad to rest from the horror of her plight. She heard the raucous voice of the outlaw booming in her ears, but she paid no heed. She saw Garry Hawks come into the cavern, waddling under the burden of the rope-ladder, which he carried clumsily by reason of the wound in his 228 arm. She observed that the outlaw said something to his minion, putting his lips close to the fellow’s ear, lest he be overheard. But she felt no curiosity as to the purport of this secret utterance, nor did she take interest when, immediately afterward, she beheld the wounded man get down on all fours and crawl out of sight through the hole in the opposite side of the cave.

Little by little, the prisoner’s forces came back to her. Of a sudden, she aroused with a start, as though she had been asleep, albeit without any consciousness of having slept. She felt a new alertness now through all her members, and her brain was clear. Along with this well-being came again appreciation of the dreadfulness of her case. She grew rigid under the shock of dire realization, tensing her muscles, without volition, as if to repel attack. Her eyes went fearfully to Hodges, who sprawled at ease on a heap of spruce boughs across the cavern from her. The man was puffing lazily at a corncob pipe. The rank, acrid smell of the tobacco-smoke came to her nostrils, strangely home-like in this weird prison cell, aloft within the crags. She perceived, with infinite relief, that for the moment he appeared absorbed in his thoughts, disregardful of her presence. At least, she would have opportunity to fortify her spirit against the fear that beset her. She must ape bravery, even though she 229 sickened with terror. Thus only could she hope to daunt the creature that threatened her. She had only moral strength with which to resist him. Physically, she would be as a child in his grasp, notwithstanding her quick, firm muscles. In a bodily contest, there could be but the single issue, her vanquishment. It would be hardly more than sport to him, the utmost of her frenzied strugglings. She saw the bloody marks of her fingers on his face, and remembered his stolid seeming of indifference to her fury. He had scorned her strength then. So, he would continue to scorn it—with reason, since it could by no means avail against him. No, she must have recourse to strength of will rather, to awe and intimidate him. She knew the folly of such means against the brutal desire of the man. But she clung to it as a meed of hope, because she had naught else to which to cling. Without a hope, even the falsest, she must have gone mad.

One thing seemed favoring for the time. The man was evidently sober. Plutina wondered at that, for Hodges was not often sober, and excess of liquor was an accustomed part in all his pleasures. His abstinence now puzzled her, but it relieved her, too, since it promised some postponement of his worst advances. Thus encouraged, she set herself to review the situation in detail, in forlorn attempt to come on a way of escape. But a half-hour of 230 effort left her distraught. She could devise nothing to suit her need. Only one thought remained for tragical comfort in her wretchedness: In her last extremity, she might cast herself from the cliff. Better a thousand times clean death than defilement.... Plutina remembered her grandfather’s regret over her having spared the outlaw. Now, with her finger on the trigger, there would have been no faltering, only joy and thanksgiving.

The defenseless girl watched furtively. When, at last, Hodges stirred from his indolent sprawl, knocked the dottle from his pipe, and looked up at her, she shrank visibly. The blood rushed back to her heart in a flood, leaving her pallid, and she was trembling. Even in the feeble light from the guttering candle, Hodges could perceive her disturbance. It gratified him, and he laughed, in sinister glee over her emotion.

“I ’low ye’re gittin’ some tame since yistiddy,” he exclaimed. He got to his feet slowly, whereat Plutina looked toward the entrance cleft, ready if the need came, to fly from him to the more merciful abyss. But Hodges moved toward the back of the cave where he brought out a stone jug from its niche, and returned to the bed of boughs. Seated again, he filled the tin cup full of spirits, and drank it down. With the pipe recharged and burning, he continued to sit in silence, regarding the girl with 231 an unswerving intentness that tortured her. At short intervals, he replenished the cup and quaffed it thirstily. He was rapidly compensating for his earlier abstinence. Plutina, studying him covertly, noted the beginnings of drunkenness and its various stages. There was gruesome fascination in her scrutiny; for she knew that her honor rested on the hazard of a sot’s whim.

Suddenly, the girl knew that the peril was very close upon her. Hodges was staring at her from his reddened eyes with a rampant lustfulness that was unmistakable. Again, she measured the distances, to make sure that the last desperate means of escape from his embraces lay open still. She meant, in the final crisis, to spring to the crevice, before he could approach within reach of her. There, with the verge of the cliff only a step away, she would make her plea, with death in the gulf as the alternative of failure, the ultimate safeguard of honor.

There could be no doubt concerning the imminence of the danger. The usually red face of the outlaw was mottled purple, congested by the stimuli of liquor and passion. The thick under-lip hung slackly, quivering from time to time in the convulsive tremors of desire that ran over him. A high light fell on the man’s neck, where the open shirt left it bare. Plutina’s gaze was caught by the 232 slight rise and fall of the flesh above the artery. The movement was made distinguishable across the cavern by the effects of light and shade. The girl found herself mechanically counting the throbs. The rapidity of them amazed her. They witnessed the fever raging in his blood—the fever that clamored for assuagement from her. The galloping pulse enthralled her with horror. It made visible the vile fires raging in him. So swift the rhythm grew that a hideous hope sprang up in the watcher—hope that an apoplexy might stretch the man dead at her feet.

Hodges reached for the jug, and poured from it into the cup, and drank. The girl perceived that, in the few seconds, his mood had changed utterly. The purple of his face was dingy with gray. He was trembling now. His eyes moved restlessly, as if fearful of something to issue from the darkness. Not once did they rest on her. She remembered the racing pulse in his throat, and looked for it. To her astonishment, it was no longer to be seen, though the light fell on the place as before. She knew then that the fever had died, and she marveled mightily. But she recognized more, for she was unharmed still. The changed mood of her enemy promised immunity, for a time at least.

Yet once again, the outlaw drank. Then, without a word to the prisoner, or so much as a look in 233 her direction, he got down on his hands and knees, and crawled out of sight through the hole in the wall.

For what seemed to her ages, Plutina waited for his return, dreading a new, obscene mood. But the time dragged on, and there was no sign of his coming. The candle flared and smoked, went out. The girl huddled in the dark, listening now, for her eyes could not pierce the blackness. The roar of the waterfall filled her ears. The noise dismayed her, for it must inevitably cover all lesser sounds, even those close at hand. Any evil might leap on her without warning, out of the darkness. She felt her helplessness multiplied, intolerable, thus blinded and deafened. She longed to shriek, pitting shrill clamor against the bass thunders of the cascade. She began to fear lest madness seize her if she remained longer thus supinely crouching amid the terrors of this place. Obeying a sudden impulse, she got up, and gropingly, with shuffling, cautious steps, moved across the cavern. When she reached the opposite wall, she got down on hands and knees, and crawled until her searching fingers found the emptiness of the hole through which the men had passed. Then, she drew back a little, and sat with alert ears, sure that none could issue into the cavern now without her knowledge.

The relief afforded by the action soon waned. 234 Terrors crowded on her again in the second period of waiting. In desperation, she determined to explore the hole itself. She tried to examine the project carefully and found nothing to stay her purpose. Joy leaped in her at the thought that a way of escape even might be ready to her hand. She believed it more likely, however, that the passage led merely to another chamber in the cliff. If such should be the case, and either or both of the men were sleeping there, she could probably ascertain the fact readily without being herself discovered, since here the sound of the falls was muffled. Forthwith, she crept slowly within the opening.

The progress was snail-like. The rough rock of the floor cut into her knees cruelly, but she disregarded the pain, and went forward. She tested each inch of the way by feeling over the stones with her hands, on either side and along the floor. The narrowness of the passage, which was hardly more than its height, rendered thorough examination easy. She found no lateral openings, nor did the space grow perceptibly larger. It suddenly occurred to her, after having advanced steadily, though very slowly, for five minutes, that she could not turn around. To return, she must back out. The idea appalled her, and she meditated retreat. Then, while she was yet undecided, the hand groping in front of 235 her touched on stone above the floor level. A short investigation proved that here the passage was barred. She could feel space between the edges of the tunnel and the mass of stone that closed it. Since there was no other point of egress, both men must have passed through. Afterward, the opening had been closed by rolling a heavy rock before it. She put her strength in pressure against the stone, without avail. It was too heavy for her muscles. She realized that by this simple means she was shut within her prison. It was almost with relief that she began to creep backward—to be astounded by the shortness of the way. It was scarcely a minute before she was in the chamber again. To guard against surprise in the darkness, she pushed the couch of boughs a little way along the wall, so that it projected across the mouth of the tunnel. This done, she seated herself on the branches, assured that no one could enter the cavern without giving her warning. Even should she sleep, the thrusting away of the boughs from the orifice must surely awaken her.

Nevertheless, Plutina did not expect the boon of sleep, though she longed for it with aching intensity. In spite of this temporary respite, she could see no way of escape from the outlaw’s power, except by death. The vagaries of a drunken mood had saved her to-night: they could 236 not save her for long. And, then, even while she mourned the hopelessness of her case, oblivion fell on her, and she slept the reposeful, dreamless slumber of utter exhaustion.

A violent shaking of the bed of boughs startled the prisoner back to consciousness. For the fraction of a second, her mind was chaos. Then remembrance came, and rending fear. But there was one comfort—day had dawned: she could see. There was no one with her in the chamber. The moving branches warned that the intruder was still in the tunnel. There was time for her to gain the crevice, where she could forbid any approach, where if her command failed, she could throw herself from the cliff. She darted across the width of the room, and stood in the cleft, strained back against the rock, her eyes staring affrightedly toward the opposite wall. All her woman’s terrors were crashing upon her now. She felt Death clawing at her over the brow of the ledge, fierce to drag her into the depths. One of the hands clutching at her bosom touched the fairy crystal, and she seized it despairingly, and clung to it, as if the secret spell of it might hold her back to life.

Abruptly, a broken cry of relief fluttered from her lips, for she saw the shock head of Garry Hawks thrust from the tunnel’s mouth. Toward him, she felt no fear, only contempt. In the reaction, 237 she trembled so that she could hardly stand, and for a few moments her eyes closed. Only the rock against which she leaned saved her from crumbling to the floor. The weakness passed very quickly, however, and she was again mistress of herself by the time Hawks had scrambled to his feet.

The fellow had little to say, answering surlily the questions put to him by Plutina. He plainly cherished animosity against the girl who had wounded him, which was natural enough. As plainly, he did not dare vent his spite too openly against the object of his chief’s fondness. He brought with him a bag containing bread and a liberal allowance of cooked slices of bacon, and a jug of water. His information was to the effect that Hodges would not return until nightfall. He left in the fashion of his coming, by the tunnel. Plutina immediately replaced the boughs, and, when she had eaten and drunk, again seated herself on the rough bed. From time to time, she went to the crevice, and stared out over the wild landscape longingly. But the height gave her a vertigo if she stepped forth upon the ledge. For that reason, she did not venture outside the crevice after a single attempt, which set her brain reeling. She remained instead well within the cleft, where she was unaffected by the height, while able to behold the vast reaches of sunlit 238 space before her. The area about the foot of the precipice was, however, cut off from her vision. So it came about that, though she went twice to the crevice and looked out during the intervals while the marshal, first with his men and afterward with her grandfather, was searching about the pool, she knew nothing concerning the nearness of aid. She could not see the men, and the din of the falls covered their voices.

Occasionally, the girl lapsed into a quietude that was half-stupor and half-sleep, the while she reclined on the boughs. These were blessed periods of rest for the over-strained nerves, and she strove to prolong them—always in vain. For the most part, she hurried about with febrile, aimless movements. She found herself wondering often if to-day were to be the last of her life. She could see no other issue. The night would bring Hodges, and the crisis of her fate. She could not hope for a second escape through a drunken vagary. There would be only the leap from the ledge to-night. As she stood in the crevice, and looked out on the smiling sylvan glory of the scene, as the soft summer breeze caressed her cheeks, and the balsamic air filled her bosom with its gently penetrant vigors, she realized as never before the miracle of life, its goodness and sweet savors. She cried out against the hideous thing that was come upon her. The 239 every fiber of her being flamed in revolt against the idea of death. Every atom of her clamored for life and love. And there were only shame and death for her choice. She took out the fairy crystal, and prayed to the sacred sign it bore, beholding it dimly though scalding tears. But faith flickered and went out. Her soul sickened.... For her, there was nothing else—just shame and death. No—only death.

Plutina would have tried escape by the rope-ladder, but she found its weight too much for her strength, so sorely over-tried by racking emotions. Even had she been able to carry the burden it would have availed nothing, for the dizziness attacked her whenever she drew near the verge. In her desperation, she even crept the length of the tunnel a second time, on the faint chance that the exit might now be less secure. She found the rock barrier immovable as before, though the rim of light showed that here was, in very truth, the way to freedom, and she pushed frantically at the obstacle until utterly exhausted.

It was when evening drew down that, at last, there sounded the noise of a writhing body within the tunnel, and, from her point of refuge close to the crevice, she saw the outlaw crawl out of the passage, and stand before her like a demon of the darkness, leering at her fatuously. 240

“You-all is shore makin’ quite a visit,” he remarked, with heavy sarcasm.

“An’ it kain’t he’p ye none, Dan,” Plutina retorted. “I hates ye, an’ yer keepin’ me hyar hain’t goin’ to do ye no good. If ye goes fer to lay a finger on me, I’ll go over the cliff. I’m worse scairt o’ yer touchin’ me than I be o’ the rocks down thar, Dan.” Her voice was colorless, but an undertone of finality ran in it.

The outlaw regarded her sharply from his inflamed eyes. It may be that her sincerity impressed him. Yet, he betrayed no feeling as he answered, carelessly:

“Hain’t no call fer ye to be so damned ornery. I hain’t a-goin’ to tech ye—yit. We’ll be together quite a spell, I reckon—till I gits sick o’ havin’ ye round. If I wanted ye I could jump ye easy from hyar. I’m some spry, if I be big. But ye needn’t be skeered, I’m tellin’ ye. I hain’t a-goin’ to tech ye—yit.”

The final monosyllable was charged with sinister import, but the man’s assurance of her present safety was, somehow, convincing, and she accepted it with the emotional gratitude of one sentenced to death who receives a reprieve. She sank down on the stone bench near the crevice, and watched her jailer with unwavering attention, while he produced a candle from his pocket, and lighted it, and 241 had recourse again to the stone jug of whiskey, which had remained by the bed of boughs.

To-night, the fiery drams made him garrulous, and he discussed his affairs, his hopes, and plans, with a freedom that showed how complete was his expectation of retaining the girl in his power. Thus, Plutina learned of the search being made for her, which was now the active cause in changing the outlaw’s purpose in the immediate disposal of his prisoner.

“I was aimin’ to lay low with ye right hyar,” he explained, after his fourth sup of the spirits. “But I reckon hit’s a goin’ to be a heap safer to skedaddle. I ain’t a-wantin’ no damned dawgs fer to chaw me up. So I’m goin’ to mosey over Bull Head t’-morrer. You-all ’ll go ’long, nice an’ peaceable—er ye’ll be drug.” He spoke with a snarl now. “Ye’ll know hit, when I once git ye cross the state line—cuss ye! Ye’ll find I hain’t so damned shy, arter all!”

Plutina cowered before the savage threat in the words. There was no mistaking the expression in the lustful eyes burning on her. His regard was in itself contamination. It was the prophecy of worse, of the final wickedness, to come. The afflicted girl thrilled with loathing before the satyr-like aspect of this man, foul of flesh and soul. But, along with abhorrence of the creature who held her 242 in his keeping so ruthlessly, there was another emotion—that recurrent wonder concerning such delay in the base gratification craved by his passion. She could not doubt the fierce longing that seethed in his veins. It was like a visible thing flaming from him; and tangible, for she felt the impact of those brutal desires thronging against the white shield of her own purity, powerless to penetrate, yet nauseating her by the unclean impact. What, then, interposed to check him? What hidden force held him back from working his will against her? She could make no surmise. Certainly, here was no physical restraint to stay him. As certainly, no moral reason would be of effect. The thing was altogether mysterious. So, she marveled mightily, and was curious to understand, even while she thanked God for the further respite. And now, too, hope began to burn again. Surely, if she were to accompany him on the trails as he had said, there would come the opportunity for escape. He could not be on guard ceaselessly. Vigilance must relax on occasion. It would not be then as here in this dreadful cavern, perched ’twixt earth and sky.... She broke off to listen, for the outlaw, having filled his pipe and drained a deep draught of the liquor, was become loquacious again. This time, thanks to the drink, he waxed confidential, intimate even. 243

“I kin git away from hyar, an’ no damned dawg kain’t foller my tracks, nuther. Er if he does, he’ll drap inter the Devil’s Kittle. But I knows my way ’bout in these-hyar mountings. An’ ye needn’t be afeared o’ losin’ me, Honey. I’ll hang onto ye good an’ tight. When I git ye over the line, I’ll have a parson, if ye want. I hain’t a-keerin’ one way, or t’other. But I got to have ye, willin’ or not willin’, parson or no parson. I’d hev ye t’-night if ’twan’t fer jest one cussed thing. Hit’s a’mighty hard to hev yer blood a-b’ilin’, till ye’re like to bust jest ’cause of a slip of a gal, what ye could smash in yer two han’s—an’ her so high an’ mighty!” The querulous voice ceased, while he had recourse again to the stone jug.

When next he spoke, it was evident that his mood had changed. He was no longer harshly self-assertive, vainglorious, or brutally frank concerning the passion that consumed him. He was, instead, strangely reminiscent, with involuntary revelation of the weakness that preyed upon him. The girl was grateful for the change in him, but her bewilderment increased.

“I seen a feller hung once,” Hodges said. His guttural, awed tones were hushed almost to a whisper. “They pulled a black cap down over ’is face, so’s he couldn’t see nothin’ ’bout what he was up ag’inst. An’ his han’s was tied together behind 244 ’is neck, with the knot up under his ear—’is left ear, I ’member hit was. I ’member partic’lar.”

The speaker’s gaze had been downcast; not once had he looked at Plutina. It was as if he had forgotten the girl’s presence there with him, and communed aloud with his own gristly memories of the death-scene he had witnessed. His huge bulk seemed somehow shrunken—a physical shriveling in response to the craven fear in his soul. That gray, mottled purple of his face showed again. Plutina wondered, if, indeed, this same memory had been in his thoughts the night before. But, if so, it only made the thing the more inexplicable. Why should a hanging, long-past, thus haunt him? He was no nervous weakling, to be tortured by imaginary fears. Yet, now, he displayed unmistakable signs of terror, in his voice, his eyes, his whole mien, in the shaking haste that spilled the half of the drink he poured out.

“I seen ’im hung,” he repeated, abjectly. “They let the trap drap from under his feet—an’ ’im all tied, an’ thet-thar black cap pulled down over ’is face to blind ’im. Hit were plumb awful fer to see ’im drap. An’ then the rope stopped ’im right in the air. Hit were a drefful yank he got. They say, hit broke ’is neck, so’s he didn’t feel nothin’ more. But I dunno. Hit looked like he felt a heap, fer he kicked an’ squirmed like hell. Hit weren’t 245 purty fer to see. I’ve seen a big bull-frog what I’ve speared kick an’ squirm jest like ’im. No, hit weren’t purty. I’d shore hate fer to have my neck bruk thet-thar way. Damn the law, anyhow! They hadn’t orter treat no white man thet-thar way. Hit must feel awful, a-standin’ up thar, with thet-thar cap down over ye, shuttin’ out everythin’—ferever; an’ with thet-thar noose round yer neck, an’ the knot a-ticklin’ yer ear—yer left ear. I ’member specially. An’ a-knowin’ the noose is a-goin’ to tighten, an’ cut off yer breath—fer always. An’ a-standin’ on thet-thar trap, an’ a-knowin’ hit’s goin’ to drap—a-knowin’ the bottom’s a-goin’ to drap right out o’—everythin’! I don’t never want my neck bruk no sech way’s thet. Hit hain’t right.”

Plutina, staring wide-eyed, saw to her stupefaction that tears trickled from the eyes of the maudlin man; she heard him whimpering. Once more, he poured himself a drink. He mumbled unintelligibly for a little. Then, of a sudden, his voice rose in a last flare of energy, before he rolled on the boughs in sodden slumber.

“Damn the law in this-hyar state! Hit hain’t right, nohow. Jest ’cause a feller loves a gal—to hang ’im! I hain’t afeared o’ nothin’ else, s’fur’s I knows, but I’d hate fer to have my neck bruk like his’n was. I hain’t a-takin’ no chancet o’ thet. I’ll 246 wait till I’m over the line. But hit’s hell to crave a woman!”

Raucous snores told the girl that the man slept, that again she had passed through the ordeal in safety. And now, at last, she knew the cause of her escape thus far. The mystery that had baffled her was a mystery no longer. Out of the creature’s own mouth had come the explanation. Driven on by gusty passion as he was, a yet stronger emotion triumphed over lust. Of imagination he had little, but he had seen a man hanged. His memory of that death had been her salvation, for such is the punishment meted to the violator of a woman in North Carolina. In Dan Hodges, that master emotion, lust, had met a mightier—fear. Because he was a coward, he had not ventured even the least caress, lest passion seize him and make him mad—forgetful of how that other man died so horribly. She had been spared because between him and her a scaffold loomed.