He did not know that he had drawn his
automatic; he scarcely realized that as fast as his fingers could press
the trigger he was firing shot after shot, with the muzzle of his pistol
so close to the head of Tara's enemy that the reports of the weapon were
deadened as if muffled under a thick blanket. It was a heavy weapon. A
stream of lead burned its way into the grizzly's brain. There were
eleven shots and he fired them all in that wild, blood-red frenzy; and
when he stood up he had the girl close in his arms, her naked breast
throbbing pantingly against him. The clasp of his hands against her
warm flesh cleared his head, and while Tara was rending at the throat
of his dying foe, David drew her swiftly out of the cage and flung about
her the light jacket he had worn.
"Go to your room," he said. "Tara is safe. I will see that no harm comes
to him now."
The cordon of men separated for them as he led her through. The crowd
was so silent that they could hear Tara's low throat-growling. And then,
breaking that silence in a savage cry, came Brokaw's voice.
"Stop!"
He faced them, huge, terrible, quivering with rage. A step behind him
was Hauck, and there was no longer in his face an effort to conceal his
murderous intentions.
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