charge lowly and it was the poignancy of her wrath which gave her control over those men—that, and the consciousness of their guilt!
"No, I'm going to talk now!" as Rowe stepped toward her and began to speak. "You've worked in the dark, you've struck from behind but don't flatter yourselves that you've covered your tracks. You men—Jim Harris and his tools—you are the ones I mean, and let there be no misunderstanding! You have made a joke of law and justice in this county. You have stooped to the use of dynamite and fire to drive me out so Pontiac Power might profit and so Luke Taylor might make worthless slashings out of a growing forest! That speaks well for you, doesn't it?" She laughed mirthlessly, "Chief Pontiac Power and a millionaire lumberman using bomb and torch and blackmail against a penniless girl!"
Harris stepped forward.
"You're putting yourself pretty thoroughly on record, young lady," he said. "You're going too far with your talk about lawlessness. You may find out that there's a law which will protect the good name of—"
"Good name!" she scoffed under her breath. "Good name? Is it your good name, Jim Harris? Is your name good, Mr. Rowe?"
"Hold your tongue!" Rowe cried in a shaking voice and his viciousness staggered her for the moment. "You will have an opportunity to prove these things you have said about these men, about me, about Mr. Taylor."
The leap of light in the eyes of the man behind Helen Foraker snapped Rowe's gaze from her face and as he stared over her shoulder the sinister quality in his expression deepened.
