"I will.

I'll kill you!" The blow of her stick had half blinded the bootlegger's one eye, but he was coming toward her.

Swift as a bird Nada turned and ran, and as the man's footsteps crunched in the gravel and rock behind her a wild fear possessed her--fear for Peter, and not for herself.

Very soon Hawkins was left behind, cursing at the futility of the pursuit, and at the fate that had robbed him of an eye.
Down the coulee and out into the green meadowland of the plain ran Nada, her hair streaming brightly in the sun, her arms clutching Peter to her breast.

Peter was whimpering now, crying softly and piteously, just as once upon a time she had heard a baby cry--a little baby that was dying.
And her soul cried out in agony, for she knew that Peter, too, was dying.