“You were prospecting for a woman, and that woman happens to be my daughter.  Deny it, if you dare.”

“I do deny it,” Curly stoutly protested.  “Your daughter is nothing to me.”

Jim Weston’s right hand toyed with a paper-weight on his desk, and his eyes gleamed with anger.

“You lie, Curly, and you know it,” he charged.  “You have had your foul eyes upon my daughter ever since you first saw her.  You have declared over and over again that one day she would be yours.”

Curly’s face grew livid, and he tried to speak.  But Weston lifted his hand.

“Wait until I am through,” he thundered.  “Have you not used my daughter’s name very often while gambling?  And did you not bet a short time ago at Big Draw that you would cross the Golden Crest and lure my daughter to a fate worse than death?  You know it is true, and yet you have the impudence to stand here and deny it.”

Curly’s eyes were again fixed upon the floor, and he made no reply to this accusation.  His terror of this man was becoming great.  How did he know so much? he asked himself.

“Now, what should be done to a thing like you?” Weston continued.  “Your record is well known, not only here but all along the coast.  No innocent woman or girl is safe when you are around, and you are a menace to any community.  You leave the marks of your filthy trail wherever you go.  And you are not alone in your villainous deeds, for there are others just like you, who defy the laws of God and man.  So far you have escaped, but now you shall pay for your vile and cowardly acts.  It would be a sin to allow a creature like you to remain at large.  It is far better to settle with you immediately and thus make you incapable of doing more harm in the future.  You took it upon yourself to enter Glen West to ruin my daughter, and you must abide by the result.”

Curly fully understood the meaning of these words, and his face blanched with terror.  He lifted his eyes and tried to speak.  But intelligible words failed to come, for he was almost paralyzed with fear.

“Death is too good a punishment for you,” Weston resumed.  “But as that is about the only thing which will strike terror into the hearts of human devils, of which you are the chief, it must be done.  It may teach others to keep clear of Glen West after this.”

With a howl Curly dropped upon his knees.  His teeth chattered, and his body trembled violently.  He stretched out his hands in a beseeching manner.

“For God’s sake, don’t kill me!” he yelled.  “Let me go, an’ I swear I’ll never come near this place again.”

“H’m, you are too late with your prayers, Curly.  It’s nothing less than the Ordeal for you now, so stop your yelps.  If you don’t of your own accord, we shall be forced to do something to make you.”

He then turned to Sconda and gave a brief order in the Indian tongue.  The next instant Curly was hurried out of the house, and down the trail leading to the village.