"I'm afraid it's all up with Bess."
David turned and knelt beside her, touching her with hands so tremulous
he could hardly direct them. His breath came in gasps, he was shaken
and blinded with passion, high-pitched and nerve-wracking as a woman's.
Leff rose, volleying curses.
"Here you," Courant shifted a hard eye on him, "get out. Get on your
horse and go," then turning to Bess, "Damn bad luck if we got to lose
her."
Leff stood irresolute, his curses dying away in smothered mutterings.
His skin was gray, a trickle of blood ran down from a cut on his neck,
his face showed an animal ferocity, dark and lowering as the front of
an angry bull. With a slow lift of his head he looked at Susan, who
was still in the wagon. She met the glance stonily with eyes in which
her dislike had suddenly crystallized into open abhorrence. She gave a
jerk of her head toward his horse, a movement of contemptuous command,
and obeying it he mounted and rode away.
She joined the two men, who were examining Bess, now stretched
motionless and uttering pitiful sounds. David had the head, bruised
and torn by Leff's kicks, on his knees, while Courant with expert hands
searched for her hurt.
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