found himself bruised and bleeding on the floor while men scuffled about him and Taylor struck again and again and cried: "I'll break your spine—I'll kill you, Rowe!"
They were on Taylor, trying to hold him, scrambling and shouting as he flung them off to be at Rowe again. And then the sheriff, drawing his revolver, brought it down smartly on John's head—and the fight stopped.
John stood up, the sheriff holding his arm, shaking him.
"That ought to be pretty good," said Harris with a laugh. "You all heard him say, 'I'll kill you, Rowe,' And look at Rowe's face! That ought to be about assault with intent to do great bodily harm less than the crime of murder, hadn't it?" to the sheriff. "We don't want to bear down too hard!"
Taylor felt his head and blinked as clear consciousness came back. He was being led down the street, up the court house steps, through the echoing hall; a barred door was closing.
Helen Foraker had heard, had seen the enmity between Taylor and Rowe. She stared at John and as he dodged that first blow she turned and stumbled through the doorway and ran across the street, leaping into her car, fleeing for the sanctity of her forest where she could think and reason and try to straighten this thing out for herself.
She had driven him out, yet he had blocked Rowe in his purpose. He had betrayed her and today he had been her defender. The throbbing of her heart almost choked her: wild hope and abject misery blinded her.
