The blow of her stick had half blinded the bootlegger's one eye,
but he was coming toward her. Swift as a bird Nada turned and ran,
and as the man's footsteps crunched in the gravel and rock behind
her a wild fear possessed her--fear for Peter, and not for
herself. Very soon Hawkins was left behind, cursing at the
futility of the pursuit, and at the fate that had robbed him of an
eye.

Down the coulee and out into the green meadowland of the plain ran
Nada, her hair streaming brightly in the sun, her arms clutching
Peter to her breast. Peter was whimpering now, crying softly and
piteously, just as once upon a time she had heard a baby cry--a
little baby that was dying. And her soul cried out in agony, for
she knew that Peter, too, was dying. And as she stumbled onward--
on toward the black forest, she put her face down to Peter and
sobbed over and over again his name.

"Peter--Peter--Peter--"

And Peter, joyous and grateful for her love and the sound of her
voice even in these moments, thrust out his tongue and caressed
her cheek, and the girl's breath came in a great sob as she
staggered on.

"It's all right now, Peter," she crooned. "It's all right, baby.
He won't hurt you any more, an' we're goin' across the creek to
Mister Roger's cabin, an' you'll be happy there. You'll be happy--
"

Her voice choked full, and her mother-heart seemed to break inside