I'll--well, you know. Drink this, damn you!"
Sputtering and choking, her heart beating wildly with fear and rage,
Rosalie was thrown back upon the straw by the woman. Her throat was
burning from the effects of the whiskey and her eyes were blinded by the
tears of anger and helplessness.
"Don't come any of your highfalutin' airs with me, you little cat,"
shrieked the old woman, rubbing a knee that Rosalie had kicked in her
struggles.
"Lay still there," added Sam. "We don't want to hurt you, but you got to
do as I tell you. Understand? Not a word, now! Gimme that coffee-pot,
Davy. Go an' see that everything's locked up an' we'll turn in fer the
night. Maude, you set up an' keep watch. If she makes a crack, soak her
one."
"You bet I will. She'll find she ain't attendin' no Sunday-school
picnic."
"No boozin'!" was Sam's order as he told out small portions of whiskey.
Then the gang ate ravenously of the bacon and beans and drank cup after
cup of coffee. Later the men threw themselves upon the piles of straw
and soon all were snoring. The big woman refilled the lantern and hung
it on a peg in the wall of the cave; then she took up her post near the
square door leading to the underground passage, her throne an upturned
whiskey barrel, her back against the wall of the cave. She glared at
Rosalie through the semi-darkness, frequently addressing her with the
vilest invectives cautiously uttered--and all because her victim had
beautiful eyes and was unable to close them in sleep.
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