"Fetch that critter here.

I want him." Still Mary-'Gusta did not answer.

She was pale and her small knees shook, but she neither spoke nor moved from where she stood.

And her grip upon the cat tightened.
"Fetch that cat here," repeated Abner.

"We're goin' to shoot him; he's been stealin' our chickens." At this accusation and the awful threat accompanying it, Mary-'Gusta forgot her terror of the Bacheldors, of the gun, forgot everything except her pet and its danger.
"I shan't!" she cried frantically.