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The effect was remarkable. Like
a lash upon a raw wound it made him writhe; but more significant to Lucy was
the sudden convulsive working of his features and the wildness of his eyes.
Then she turned her back, not from contempt, but to hurry away from him.
He leaped after her and grasped her with rude hands.
"Let me go!" cried Lucy, standing perfectly motionless. The hard clutch of his
fingers roused a fierce, hot anger.
Joel did not heed her command. He was forcing her back. He talked
incoherently. One glimpse of his face added terror to Lucy's fury.
"Joel, you're out of your head!" she cried, and she began to wrench and writhe
out of his grasp. Then ensued a short, sharp struggle. Joel could not hold
Lucy, but he tore her blouse into shreds. It seemed to Lucy that he did that
savagely. She broke free from him, and he lunged at her again. With all her
strength she lashed his face with the heavy leather quirt. That staggered him.
He almost fell.
Lucy bounded to Sarchedon. In a rush she was up in the saddle.


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