small, evil-smelling room. An oil-lamp burned upon a little stand in one
corner. A door--the only one--was closed--locked. She saw the stout
wooden bar in its sturdy side slots.

At first she thought she was alone; and with a hope that made her
breathless she lifted herself, swinging around until her feet were on
the floor, intending to leap to the door, open it, and escape. A sound
arrested her, a chuckle, grim and sinister, in a man's voice. She
flashed swiftly around, to see Slade sitting in a chair near the foot of
the bed. He was bending forward, his elbows on his knees, his knuckles
supporting his chin, watching her with a wide, amused grin.

For a long, breathless space she looked at him; noting the evil light in
his eyes and the cruel, bestial curve of his lips. She saw how his gaze
quickened as he watched her; how he had drawn one foot under
him--obviously to be used as leverage for a rapid leap should she try to
reach the door.

"It ain't no use, ma'am," he said; "you're here, an' you're goin' to
stay for a while." He got up and walked to the door, placing his back
against it and grinning widely as he looked down at her, as she yielded
to a long shudder of dread.

During the silence that followed Slade's words Ruth could hear faint
sounds from below--the clinking of glasses, the scuffling of feet, a low
murmur of voices. She knew, then, that they had brought her to a room
above a saloon--the Wolf, she supposed, for that was where Warden said
he intended to bring her.

She watched Slade fearfully, divining that he meant to attack her. She