Island Flame Part 6

"Then alone you shall be, my lady.For a while. Just don't get too fond of solitude. Remember, it's only temporary."

Cathy clamped her lips together and refused to dignify his needling with a reply. After a moment she heard the door open, and then click shut behind him. Through the window, the sunlight was making sparkling, ever-changing patterns on gently breaking waves. Cathy stared at them blindly. She felt shattered, drained of all emotion. For the first time she acknowledged to herself how completely she was at the pirate captain's mercy. Then shesmiled, her expression grim. Only a fool would expect mercy from a merciless man.

Five.

Eleven days later the "Margarita" sailed into the Spanish port of Cadiz. The weather had turned hot and sunny again, after almost a week of intermittent squalls. Since their quarrel, Cathy had spoken to Jon only when she absolutely had to, and he was equally terse with her. The only use he now had for her was to take her body roughly, quickly, at least once, and sometimes even two or three times a day. Cathy found it increasingly easy to He as unmoving as a stone statue beneath him while he did his worst to her. It had become a point of pride with her to feel nothing^-and make sure that Jon knew it.

His temper had deteriorated steadily as her resistance increased. Even Harry tiptoed around him as one would around a live and extremely volatile bomb.Petersham took care to stay away from the cabin when Jon wasthere, telling Cathy frankly that he had no wish to be present when the inevitable explosion occurred. Cathy resolutely refused to be intimidated. Her tactics, though admittedly dangerous, were working.

Her att.i.tude was as irritating to him as a small stinging fly was to a large horse. He was being exasperated to the point where he found it impossible to conceal the fact that she was getting under his skin. Only the night before, as he began what Cathy was coming to think of as his ritual a.s.sault, he was goaded into revealing just how much her total lack of response irkedhim. She was lying flat on her back on the bunk where he had thrown her, as limp and unresisting as a rag doll while he systematically stripped her. Finally, with a muttered curse, he stopped with one large hand hooked around the waistband of her pantalets to glare at her. Cathy clenched her eyes tightly shut, refusing to respond to him byso much as a look.

"That's right, b.i.t.c.h," he sneered savagely. "Just close your eyes and think of England. Do you think I give a d.a.m.n how you feel?"

With that he lowered himself on her stiff body and proceeded to take it brutally. Cathy made neither sound nor movement to help or hinder. She lay like a corpse, inwardly triumphant. He might walk off with an occasional battle, but she was winning the war.

His hands and mouth were deliberately ungentle, inflicting bruises that were still sore the following day. When he had finished, he rolled cursing onto his side. After a few moments he had risen from the bunk and dressed, stomping out of the cabin without a word. She hadn't seen him since. Cathy smiled, remembering. She was making him suffer, and the thought brightened her day.

The unaccustomed sight of land out of the small window beckoned Cathyirresistably . She decided to end her self-imposed exile. After all, she was the only one to suffer from her confinement. As Jon had repeatedly said, she could stay in his cabin until doomsday as far as he was concerned. All he cared about was having her body available whenever he cared to avail himself of it. Unspeakable animal, she thought bitterly, and then dismissed him from her mind. She was determined to enjoy the day.

Cathy dressed hastily, suddenly so tired of the four walls of the captain's cabin that she could have screamed. A simple, peach-colored linen dress seemed the best choice considering the heat, not to mention the way it blended with her creamy skin, giving the illusion at first sight that she was naked. A large straw hat tied beneath her chin to protect her complexion from the sun completed her toilette, and she was ready. She opened the cabin door and stepped out on deck.

Her arrival caused not the slightest ripple in the smooth running of the ship. Indeed, no one even so much as glanced her way. The men were all busy taking in the sails so that the "Margarita" could safely drop anchor. Bawdy songs and jovial curses floated down to Cathy's ears from the rigging, where the men clung like chattering monkeys.

Jon was not on the quarterdeck. Cathy looked around for him on the theory that it was always safest to know the location of the enemy. He didn't appear to be anywhere on the ship, in fact. Her eyes were beginning anotherdisbeheving swing when she heard his deep voice high above her. She looked up, searchingly. When at last she spotted him her heart stood still for a frightened instant before resuming its beat double-fast. He was in the rigging with his men, high up near the tip of the main mast, climbing even higher as Cathy watched to release the rope that held the topsail to the spar. At last he succeeded, after several precarious tries, and the canvas came fluttering down like a huge white moth. Jon yelled triumphantly, then began to back down the pole after the sad, legs wrapped tightly around the smooth wood as his hands moved one beneath the other. He was grinning, and Cathy could have cheerfully slapped the ridiculous smirk from his face. It was dangerous to go up that high! He should have left it to the men! She was too disturbed to wonder why the thought of his falling from such a height should so upset her. She just knew that it did.

"Michaelson, you and Finch check that canvas for tears," he bellowed, as the sail floated down to the deck.

"h.e.l.l,Cap'n , weain't tailors!" a man called back amiably.

"You are if I say you are!" Jon retorted, still grinning. "Now get to it!"

The men complied with much good-natured grumbling. Cathy wondered that they dared, considering the mood Jon had been in lately. Even he seemed cheerful, though. Lately he had been about as lighthearted as a graveyard. Then the words to one of the songs began to make sense. Jon had said that when the "Margarita" made port there would be plenty of women willing to warm his bed, and apparently the crew was of a similar mind. Cathy shut her mind to the obscene lyrics, her eyes beginning to narrow. If Captain Hale chose to sleep with wh.o.r.es, she could only be grateful to them for relieving her of the onerous duty! She shrank back against the wall beneath the quarterdeck, suddenly anxious not to be seen. The arrogant beast might take her presence on the deck as a sign that she was weakening toward him!

"Ahoy,Cap'n !"Harry came to stand beneath the mast, neck craned back to look at Jon as he still worked high aloft.

"What is it?"

"About the prisoners,Cap'n .You want me to see about their ransoms while I'm ash.o.r.e ordering supplies?"

"h.e.l.l, yes! The sooner we're rid of the stinking pests the better!"

Cathy was shocked at the pain this callous dismissal caused her. She stood biting her hp, unnoticed by all, and told herself sternly that she was elated. Soon she would be free to resume her life where it had been so rudely interrupted, to go to parties and b.a.l.l.s, to meet handsome young men. She would return to Portugal, she planned. No one there would know what had happened to her, and she could be a.s.sured of her good name. Eventually she might marry. . . . Then the "Margarita" and all that had happened aboard the ship would seem no more real than a bad dream.

"Harry!" Jon yelled after a moment's silence. The second officer had already turned and was making his way toward the rail; far below a small boat waited to take him to sh.o.r.e. He turned back at Jon's summons.

"Aye,Cap'n ?"

"Uh-just arrange ransoms for the old lady and the couple. I've a mind to keep the girl for a while." This was said in an offhand tone, but Jon had to repeat it at a bellow before Harry could hear him properly.

"You sure about this,Cap'n ?"Harry asked worriedly, when the words were made clear to him.

"d.a.m.nit, don't argue every time I give you an order. Just do it."

"But,Cap'n . . . ."

"Look, consider her part of my share. Does that make it easier for your puritan soul to accept?" Jon sounded thoroughly exasperated. Harry cleared his throat nervously, remembering the Captain's temper of late.

'Yes, sir," Harry said smartly, but he was shaking his head as he walked away.

For just an instant Cathy was conscious of a quick stab of delight. Jon meant to keep her with him. . . . ! Then she took herself firmly in hand. Yes, he meant to keep her-until he tired of her. Then she would be cast aside like a pair of worn out breeches while he found another to take her place. She wouldn't even have exclusivity while she was with him! Not if she had read his plans for the night correctly. Was that what she, daughter of an Earl, wanted out of life? To be the transient receptacle of a pirate's l.u.s.t? Not a chance! She would throw herself overboard before she would submit to being so degraded! Her pride hotly rebelled against the picture she had conjured up. She wouldn't take it, she wouldn't! She would escape . . . !

Cathy looked toward where the breakers pounded the curving sh.o.r.eline, some seven hundred yards away. She had always been a strong swimmer-an unusual accomplishment for a girl. But she had insisted on learning, and, as always, had gotten her own way. For once her willfulness would stand her in good stead. She was certain that she could swim the distance to sh.o.r.e. True, she had never swum so far, but then she had never had so much reason. She was positive that she could do it. Just the thought of thwarting Captain Jonathan Hale would give her the necessary strength!

Eyes glittering triumphantly, Cathy slipped back into the cabin. Jon mustn't know she had overheard what he'd said to Harry. He must think that she still believed that she would be released while they were in port. He wouldgo blithely ash.o.r.e tonight, not knowing that she could swim. . . . Cathy smiled. He would soon learn that she was not so easily tamed!

It was about an hour after dark when Jon returned to the cabin. Cathy, demurely dressed in her blue wrapper over a matching nightgown, was already curled up with a book on his bunk. She favored him with a haughty glance as he entered, but said nothing. Neither didhe . Cathy kept her eyes trained zealously on the book while she inwardly rejoiced. He was going ash.o.r.e! Instead of strippingoff and attackingheras heusually did as soonas he camein,he wascarefully setting outhisshavinggear.She watched, gloating,as hecleared the thick stubble from his face.Moments later, wiping the excess soapaway with a smalltowel,hepulledonbreeches of.a.good,graybroadcloththatwouldnot haveshamed a Court dandy. Then he shrugged into a white linen shirt, clean and whole for a change, which sported a small ruffle down the front and at the wrists.Thatdone, he peered into the wardrobe mirror, carefully tying a white, silk cravat around his neck.Finally, he donned a black velvet frock coat. He looked almost extremely handsome. If she had met him, dressed like this, at a party or a ball, she would certainly have exerted her charms to attract him. But, as Martha had frequently told her, handsome is as handsome does. By that reckoning, though, Jon should look like the toad prince!

"Going somewhere?" Cathy asked at last, her voice as cold as ice. To display no curiosity at all might invite suspicion.

"I'm honored!" Jon sneered, turning to stare at her with exaggerated awe. "Her ladyship deigns to speak at last! Well, for your information, my lady, I'm going to visit an old friend. A female friend," he emphasized. "I've a fancy for a livelier tart in my bed tonight than you've become of late. You should be thankful. Your rest tonight will be as undisturbed as a virgin's."

"Iamthankful," Cathy a.s.sured him, firmly suppressing what felt almost like a p.r.i.c.k of jealously. "I only wish you'd decide to replace me altogether. If you're worried about wounding my sensibilities, don't. I believe that they would survive the blow."

Cathy was justifiably proud of the careless tone of her speech. If he'd had any inkling of what she had planned, that should help gull him.

"I'm giving it serious thought," Jon answered coldly. Cathy had to fight back an urge to scream "liar!" at him. She knew better! The perfidious dog was planning to have her as a main course while he took any other woman he happened to fancy on the side! Well, not for long, she vowed, and almost smiled. Luckily, though, she caught herself in time.

Jon turned back to the mirror to smooth hisunrulv hair with his gold-backed brush. It looked ridiculously dainty in his big hand. Cathy watched him, triumph glowing in her eyes. The arrogant thing hadn't even considered that she might try to escape him. Would he ever be in for a shock! Hastily she lowered her eyes, afraid he might be able to read her rising excitement in them.

She maintained a stony silence while he finished his toilette, refusing even to look up or answer when he badeher a mocking good-night.

Cathy had to force herself to remain where she was as he shut the door behind him. She had to give him time to get clear of the ship. . . . This might be the only chance she would have. She'd better make the most of it.

Finally the splash of oars told her that he was on his way. Cathy jumped up and raced to the window. He was going, all right. She could see the light bobbing on the water as he rowed himself to sh.o.r.e.

She dropped the curtain and raced across to Jon'sseachests . Slow down, she told herself, as she almost tripped over the leg of a chair. There's plenty of time. If he had told her the truth about his destination, he'd likely be gone all night. Yet her fingers flew as they searched his sea chest for suitable swimming gear.

Moments later she stood up with her prize. Breeches and a shirt would have to do. They would certainly be better for swimming thanher own long dress. Its material would quickly have become water-logged, dragging her down with its weight. And besides, Jon's clothes would serve her better once she had reached the sh.o.r.e. She would pretend to be a boy until she was sure she was in good hands. One thing that this voyage had taught her firsthand was a young lady on her own faced danger at every turn.

She dressed hastily, thanking G.o.d for the bagginess of the clothes. They allowed not the smallest hint of her shape to show through. Except for her hair, she could easily pa.s.s for someragtail lad. She would have to do something about her hair. Quickly she braided it into two long plaits,then secured them across the top of her head. With one of Jon's caps pulled low over her forehead, she'd do, she thought, surveying herself critically in the mirror. Anyway, it would be dark, and she would take good care to stay out of the fight as much as possible.

Taking her plainest shoes from the wardrobe, she tied the laces together so that they could be hung around her neck. She couldn't swim in shoes, but on the other hand she couldn't walk through the town barefoot. The sight of her dainty feet would be a dead giveaway.

Finally, Cathy stripped the two sheets from the bed, tying them together lengthwise and pulling on the knot with all her might to test its strength. Jon had undoubtedly left some of his crew on guard, so she would have to leave by the window, and lower herself by the sheets to avoid the noise of diving. With a lot of care and a little luck, she shouldn't be missed until Jon returned the next morning. By then she would be safely in the hands of the authorities. When she told her story they would arrest him, and he would hang. . . . Well, maybe she wouldn't tell the whole story until the "Margarita" had sailed away. She wouldn't want any man's death on her conscience. Thoughtfully, Cathy blew out the candle.

Getting out of the window proved to be easier said than done. Cathy was a small girl, but the window was smaller yet. She heaved and panted and struggled and finally, just as she was beginning to think she was stuck forever, popped clear, like the last olive from a bottle. Luckily she had decided to go feet first, and had maintained a grip on the rope. If she hadn't, she would have tumbled headfirst into the water with a splash loud enough to alert every ship in the harbor. As it was, except for a few very unladylike words, Cathy managed to lower herself down the "Margarita's" side in comparative silence. She gasped a little as her bare toes first encountered the waves. The water was colder than she had expected. Well, no one had ever promised her that escape would be fun, she told herself, gritting her teeth as she lowered her body into the chilly depths. After all, a little cold water never killed anyone. Yet, her traitor brain added. Cathy quickly shushed the thought.

The swim to sh.o.r.e should warm her at any rate, she mused, paddling for a moment to get her bearings. It would be dreadful if she were to accidentally swim out to sea! The water was dark, because the moon had not yet risen. Fortunately, the sh.o.r.e was even darker, an inky black line punctuated with tiny pin-p.r.i.c.ks of light. Taking a deep breath, Cathy pushed off toward them, using the "Margarita's" hull for leverage. She swam steadily, arm over arm as she had been taught. Her only problem was the hat. It floated away the first time her head touched the water, and every time she crammed it back on her head it did the same thing again. Finally she took it off, fighting an urge to throw the pesky thing in as far away from her as she could. Once ash.o.r.e, she would need it. She gripped it between her teeth and held it like a dog with a bone. It tasted vile-like someone had soaked it in a bottle of rum. Which they probably had, knowing Jon's proclivities!

Cathy had been swimming for what seemed like hours and the sh.o.r.e looked as far away as ever. She glanced back at the "Margarita" to make certain she was still headed in the right direction. Yes, the ship was still directly behind her. Cathy was just congratulating herself on her navigation when her mind was struck by what she had seen. She almost sank herself in her haste to look at the "Margarita" again. Sure enough, down the side of the shipLike a tell-tale white serpent snaked her sheet-rope! d.a.m.n and blast, Cathy swore under her breath, borrowing one of Jon's favorite oaths without even realizing it. If she could see the rope so clearly from her position more than halfway across the bay, it must be just a little less visible from the town. She should have pulled it down! Too late now, she thought grimly, striking out for sh.o.r.e with renewed vigor. Now she was certain to be missed the first time one of the crew looked toward the ship.

Well, there was nothing for it but to swim as hard as she could and pray that the men would be so taken up with their revelries that they wouldn't spare a glance for the ship. Cathy pushed herself relentlessly, swimming until her arms felt like they would drop from their sockets. Her breath rasped in her throat and her teeth chattered with cold, but still she kept going. Just as she was beginning to despair of ever making it, her feet smacked hard into something solid. With an inward whoop of triumph, Cathy realized that she had succeeded. She stopped swimming and stood up. The muddy bottom felt like the finest carpet beneath her feet. Grinning happily, and wrapping her shivering arms around her equally cold body, she waded towards the sh.o.r.e.

The smell hit her even before she reached dry land. Sweet and rotten, it was a compound of equal parts of rotting fish, garbage, and human waste. Cathy gagged. She had never smelled anything like it in her life.

As she squelched onto the sand beneath the rickety wooden dock, it became obvious that her navigation had steered her into an extremely disreputable section of town. Cathy hastily pulled on her shoes and clamped Jon's cap down on her head. All her instincts warned her not to linger.

She set off toward what she perceived to be the center of town at a brisk walk. Sinister looking men and women prowled the streets alongside her. Cathy closed her mind as well as she could to her surroundings, thankful that the people she pa.s.sed were too intent on their own questionable business to spare her more than a casual glance. Clearly, it behooved her to find the authorities as quickly as she could. To wander aimlessly through this h.e.l.l-hole of a town was to risk having her throat slit.

The alley she had been walking down turned off into a wider street, lighted at either end with flaming torches. Drunken men laughed uproariously as they staggered from one rowdy establishment to another, their arms more often then not tight about the waist of a blowzy woman. Cathy started to go back the way she had come,then stopped. If she was ever to be safe, she needed directions. Surely, dressed as she was, there was no harm in asking.

As far as Cathy could tell, all of the open establishments seemed to be saloons of one sort or another. One adobe building, a trifle quieter than the others, had a hanging sign out front proclaiming it to be the "Red Dog." In English, Cathy's Spanish was practically nonexistent, so it seemed the logical choice. Yet some latent instinct for self-preservation caused her to hesitate.

She had to do something. She couldn't just wander through the streets all night hoping a constable would happen by.Inthe first place, it was dangerous.Inthe second, Jon would be looking for her as soon as he had discovered that she was missing. She had to be somewhere safe before then. Anyway, what harm could she cometo dressed as a young boy, even in a saloon? She looked down at herself. Not the smallest hint of her s.e.x showed. All she had to do was remember to lower her voice, and no one would suspect that she was a female. For some reason, Cathy was certain that in this section of town, at this time of night, female was not a good thing to be.

Taking a deep breath, Cathy pulled Jon's still damp cap low over her forehead and marched boldly through the swinging door. Faint heart never got anything done! Still, her movements became considerably more cautious once she was actually inside. Men sat drinking at round tables, rough, dirty men who looked far more like pirates than the "Margarita's" crew. They were certainly not gentlemen, with their raucous voices and filthy language. And the women who waited on them, bringing them ale and whiskey and sometimes lingering for a pinch or cuddle, were certainly not ladies! Wh.o.r.es would be more like it, Cathy thought contemptuously, barely controlling a blush as one would-be Lothario tugged at a gaily dressed woman's bodice, causing her ample bosom to spring free. The woman giggled, pressing the jiggling mounds wantonly against the perpetrator's face while the other men urged her on with obscene cries.

"Animals!" thought Cathy with a shudder, as she sidled around to the bar. It appeared that all men were dirty, disgusting beasts-it seemed to be inbred. She was beginning to think that, even when she got home again, she would never marry. She had a sneaking suspicion that even the most gentlemanly-seeming of men might share at least some part of that built-in brutishness.

Cathy stood at the bar, pulling her hat down over her eyes again and being very careful to attract no undue attention. She wanted time to get her bearings before asking anyone for anything. The barkeep seemed the most likely choice. He was a huge, meaty fellow with grizzled red hair and a white butcher's ap.r.o.n that was liberally adorned with stains. Although he looked no less of a ruffian than any other man in the room, he had one advantage-he was cold, stone sober.

"Sir?"How did one address a barkeep? Oh, Lord, she should have thought of that. Somehow she couldn't imagine any of the louts around her using such a courtesy t.i.tle. Still, she didn't have to worry. Her "sir" had produced no response.

"Hey, you!" she tried in a louder, gruffer voice. This time she got results. The burly barkeep turned slowly around as if he couldn't believe his ears.

"Youtalkin ' to me, boy?" he bellowed in a belligerent tone. Cathy blinked at him, dismayed, before hastily recovering herself.

"Iam." She tried to inject a note of boyish confidence into her voice as die man swaggered down the bar toward her. As he got nearer, she swallowed. Somehow she hadn't expected anything quite so overpowering. At close quarters he looked exactly like a huge, hairless red ape.

The barkeep seemed to be making an inspectionof his own . His eyes lingeredconsideringly on the soft white skin and wide blue eyes beneath the too-big cap.

"Why, we got us a pretty boy here!" he called to the room in general. The men stopped drinking to stare at Cathy. She paled under the regard of so many hostile eyes.

Haul him upso's we can see him, one of thee men atthe opposite endofthe bar shouted.

"Hey, Mac, I didn't know youwas interested in boys!" His drinking companion jabbed the first speaker in the ribs with his elbow, grinning hugely. "Whatsamatter, has Bella turned youoffa women?"

A red-haired, very generously endowed woman, who was plainly the maligned Bella, turned around to give the second man a playful tweak on the cheek.

"I'll turn you on to women, honey. All you have to do is say the word!" she giggled.

During the course of these events, Cathy perceived that she had made a grave mistake in coming into this particular saloon. The best thing she could do was leave again just as quietly as she had entered. She moved un.o.btrusively toward the door, hoping to pa.s.s through it unnoticed while everyone's attention was centered on Mac and his companions. Unfortunately, the bartender saw her sidling away and stopped her with a meaty hand on her shoulder just as she thought she was going to make it.

"Not so fast, boy," the man growled. "You never did state your business!"

Cathy looked up at him a trifle wildly. "I-uh-I just wondered if there was a place around here where I could get a bed for the night!"

She felt proud of her inventive abilities. Obviously, the mention of her true purpose would find no favor with these thugs. They all looked to be on the shady side of the law themselves.

'You need a bed for the night?" the giant askedrumi -natively. "Well, I mis...o...b.. that Bella there would be willing to share hers. She's always had ahankerin ' for baby-faced lads!"

This remark brought more hoots and catcalls. A black-haired woman, a local resident from her appearance, flounced over to stare at Cathy speculatively.

"Nah, he's too little!" she p.r.o.nounced after a critical inspection. "Throw him back!"

Themen exploded with hilarity. Cathy, ears burning at the lewd jests, tried to wriggle out from under the barkeep'shandwhile the pouting Maria held center stage. It was no use. The man's hand stuck toher shoulder like glue!

"Here, boy, there'sno reason to hurry off now. Just you situphere where youcan watchthe fun!"

So saying, the man grabbed Jon's shirtbythe collarandhoisted Cathy up untilshewas sitting on the bar. To her utter horror she heard the material give with a loud ripping noise. Oh, no! Butmaybeit wasn't too bad. Maybenothing showed. . . .

"Sorry about the shirt, boy," the barkeep said, lookingdownat her. His eyes widened fractionally. "By d.a.m.n, would you look atthat! "

His booming voice attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Cathy followed the barrage of eyes down her front. Dear G.o.d, she thought weakly, she was undone. Her whole left breast was exposed in all its pink and white glory! Quickly she jerked the material back up to cover herself, but one harried glance around told her that it was too late to do any good. Every man in the room was staring at her avidly.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n!" a hoa.r.s.e voice yelled from the back of the room. "It's a wench!"

"It's a wench! It's a wench!" The inebriated gang at the bar took up the chorus.

"Show us that t.i.t again, Big Jim!" another man urged. The chorus echoed, "Show us that t.i.t! Show us that t.i.t!"

The barkeep, apparently Big Jim by name, caught Cathy around the waist with one huge arm. With his free hand he s.n.a.t.c.hed the hat from her head. Her braids, loosened by the long swim to sh.o.r.e, tumbled down. The meaty fingers ran through her damp hair, separating the strands so that they fell over her shoulders and curled around her waist. Cathy, more frightened than she had ever been in her life, tried frantically to free herself. But an iron-thewedarm held her mercilessly, its fingers digging painfully into her waist.

"Man, show us that t.i.t!" a man in the far corner called urgently. Big Jim caught Cathy's hands, pulling them down to imprison them at her sides. The torn shirt, with nothing to hold it in place, fluttered down like a dying bird. Cathy felt her whole body flush as every male eye in the saloon turned l.u.s.tfully upon her exposed breast. Oh, G.o.d, what would happen to her now? Would they all rape her? Suddenly Cathy wished with all her heart that she was back safely on the "Margarita."Safely? Yes! Although Jon made disgusting demands on her body, he had never actually harmed her. Certainly his use of her was preferable to gang rape!

"Eh, Jim, pa.s.s her down here! I haven't set eyes on such abellisima in years!"

"Nah, hand her over to me! It wouldn't take me more than a brace of seconds to toss her on her pretty little a.s.s and give her me all!"

The badinage continued, growing gradually hotter. There seemed no doubt in anyone's mind as to Cathy's eventual fate. The only question was, who got first go?

"I seenher first!"

"Like h.e.l.l you did!I seen her first!"

'You G.o.dd.a.m.n liar! I did! Green, you remember metellin ' you to look at that kid?"

Cathy began to feel sick. This couldn't be happening! Those animals would tear her apart! She had to do something to save herself. Fighting a man the size of Big Jim was likely to earn her a broken jaw. He didn't look like he'd have any qualms about hitting a woman. On the other hand, maybe she could bribe him. . . .

"Big Jim," she whispered to the man whose huge arms held her as much a prisoner as a helpless babe. "How would you like to make some money? My father's a rich man. He'd pay you well-let me go."

"I hate women," Big Jim remarked dispa.s.sionately. "And I especially hatelyin ' women. Last woman who lied to me, know what happened to her? I broke her neck with these two hands."