"I was aimin' to lay low with ye right hyar," he explained, after his fourth sup of the spirits. "But I reckon hit's a goin' to be a heap safer to skedaddle. I ain't a-wantin' no damned dawgs fer to chaw me up. So I'm goin' to mosey over Bull Head t'-morrer. You-all 'll go 'long, nice an' peaceable--er ye'll be drug." He spoke with a snarl now. "Ye'll know hit, when I once git ye cross the state line--cuss ye! Ye'll find I hain't so damned shy, arter all!"
Plutina cowered before the savage threat in the words. There was no mistaking the expression in the lustful eyes burning on her. His regard was in itself contamination. It was the prophecy of worse, of the final wickedness, to come. The afflicted girl thrilled with loathing before the satyr-like aspect of this man, foul of flesh and soul. But, along with abhorrence of the creature who held her in his keeping so ruthlessly, there was another emotion--that recurrent wonder concerning such delay in the base gratification craved by his passion. She could not doubt the fierce longing that seethed in his veins. It was like a visible thing flaming from him; and tangible, for she felt the impact of those brutal desires thronging against the white shield of her own purity, powerless to penetrate, yet nauseating her by the unclean impact. What, then, interposed to check him? What hidden force held him back from working his will against her? She could make no surmise. Certainly, here was no physical restraint to stay him. As certainly, no moral reason would be of effect. The thing was altogether mysterious. So, she marveled mightily, and was curious to understand, even while she thanked God for the further respite. And now, too, hope began to burn again. Surely, if she were to accompany him on the trails as he had said, there would come the opportunity for escape. He could not be on guard ceaselessly. Vigilance must relax on occasion. It would not be then as here in this dreadful cavern, perched 'twixt earth and sky.... She broke off to listen, for the outlaw, having filled his pipe and drained a deep draught of the liquor, was become loquacious again. This time, thanks to the drink, he waxed confidential, intimate even.
"I kin git away from hyar, an' no damned dawg kain't foller my tracks, nuther. Er if he does, he'll drap inter the Devil's Kittle. But I knows my way 'bout in these-hyar mountings. An' ye needn't be afeared o' losin' me, Honey. I'll hang onto ye good an' tight. When I git ye over the line, I'll have a parson, if ye want. I hain't a-keerin' one way, or t'other. But I got to have ye, willin' or not willin', parson or no parson. I'd hev ye t'-night if 'twan't fer jest one cussed thing. Hit's a'mighty hard to hev yer blood a-b'ilin', till ye're like to bust jest 'cause of a slip of a gal, what ye could smash in yer two han's--an' her so high an' mighty!" The querulous voice ceased, while he had recourse again to the stone jug.