He stole at Middleford and now he's stole again here.
And Jed Winslow and you are--" He got no further, being once more stoppered like a bottle by the Winslow grip and the Winslow hand.

He wriggled and fought, but he was pinned and helpless, hands, feet and vocal organs.

Jed did not so much as look at him; he looked only at Ruth.
Her pallor had increased.

She was trembling.
"Oh, Jed," she cried, "what does he mean?
What does he mean by--by 'again--here' ?" Jed's grip tightened over his captive's mouth.
"He doesn't mean anything," he declared, stoutly.

"He don't know what he means." From behind the smothering fingers came a defiant mumble.