When he broke her hold there were handfuls of hair in Lucy's fists.
She fell again and had not the strength to rise. But Creech was raging, and
little of his broken speech was intelligible. He knelt with a sharp knee
pressing her down. He cut the rope. Nimbly, like a rider in moments of needful
swiftness, he noosed one end of the rope round her ankle, then the end of the
other piece round her wrist. He might have been tying up an unbroken mustang.
Rising, he retained hold on both ropes. He moved back, sliding them through
his hands. Then with a quick move he caught up Sage King's bridle.
Creech paused a moment, darkly triumphant. A hideous success showed in his
strange eyes. A long-cherished mad vengeance had reached its fruition. Then he
led the horse near to Lucy.
Warily he reached down. He did not know Lucy's strength was spent. He feared
she might yet escape. With hard, quick grasp he caught her, lifted her, threw
her over the King's back. He forced her down.
Lucy's resistance was her only salvation, because it kept him on the track of
his old threat.
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