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He thrust his evil face close to hers and showed his teeth in a

blind rage that forgot everything else.

"Listen here, you little locoed baby. I got something to tell you

that'll make your hair curl. You're right, I ain't your brother.

I'm Nick Struve--Wolf Struve if you like that better. I lied you

into believing me your brother, who ain't ever been anything but

a skim-milk quitter. He's dead back there in the cactus

somewhere, and I killed him!"

Terror flooded her eyes. Her very breathing hung suspended. She

gazed at him in a frozen fascination of horror.

"Killed him because he gave me away seven years ago and was

gittin' ready to round on me again. Folks don't live long that

play Wolf Struve for a lamb. A wolf! That's what I am, a born

wolf, and don't you forget it."

The fact itself did not need his words for emphasis. He fairly

reeked the beast of prey. She had to nerve herself against

faintness. She must not swoon. She dared not.