in the corner of the hall. In the utter stillness the shattering china rang out at drum pitch. Monty Camp sprang to his feet.
"What was that?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Mice," guessed Mary flippantly.
Whatever it was she did not care. She was tired of the farm anyway. She wanted to leave. She had been living in a parched desert. She longed once more for the river of life.
Yekial Meigs got himself somewhat under control. Like a drunken man he staggered out upon the porch.
"What does this mean?" he cried belligerently.
"It means," she said curtly, "that you are very discourteous to interrupt."
In his rage, Yekial made a step forward and lifted his fist as though he would strike her. But Monty Camp whipped out a revolver.
"I wouldn't do that," he said softly. "I might have to kill you unless you calm down. If there is anything I detest it is unnecessary disturbance."
That sobered Yekial a little. He swallowed several times before he could speak.
"You are a slut!" he said menacingly to Mary. But he did not lift his arm again. "It is unbelievable that you could sink so low after I have given you everything."
"Liar!" she said. "Filthy liar! You didn't even care enough for me to offer me marriage. You've treated me like a beast of burden. Can I be blamed if I act like one? For you I've merely been a cheap woman. A prostitute without payment. Ge out and sleep with your cattle. You give them far more attention than you do me anyway."
"I have given you the opportunity to be a good woman," said he.
"If this is being a good woman," she scoffed, "give me hell. It is like being dead without the formality of burial. One thing you may as well know. I am going away. I wasn't an innocent girl when you lured me here. I had had a veritable parade of lovers. I simply came to this farm because for a moment I was weak and sickly sentimental. I longed for the cheer of an open hearth. It was a foolish whim. I was tired of living in a room
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