it's just to whip you, and tar and feather you, and drive you out of
the place, but he--Toot Wambush--will kill you if he can. He would not
let you get away alive. He has promised the others not to use
violence, but he will; he hates you, and he wants revenge. He'll do it
and make the others share the responsibility with him--that's his plan."

He put his hand on the bellows-pole; the great leather bag rattled and
gasped, and a puff of ashes rose from the forge.

"How do you happen to know this?" he asked, coldly. She shrank from
him, and stared at him in silence.

"How do you know it?" he repeated, his tone growing fierce.

She drew the shawl with which she had covered her head more closely
about her shoulders.

"Toot hinted at it himself," she said, slowly.

"When?"

"About an hour ago."

"You met him?"

"Yes."

"Are you a member of his gang?"

"Mr. Westerfelt," shrinking from him, "do--do you mean to insult me?"