"A girl, the young man said, "can you cook?"

Too frightened to speak, Charlene nodded.

"Get busy then," he commanded, stepping back to the corner of the house and picking up a small cloth bag of canned goods, which he tossed at Charlene's feet.

Silently she opened the sack. She found a can of pork and beans which she put in a saucepan and set on the coals to warm. She then mixed some water with a bread mix from the bag of groceries and put the dough in a small pan on the fire. When the food was done she removed it from the fire. Her own instant coffee was sitting there and she made coffee with it. The man brought a knapsack from the corner of the house, rummaged around it till he produced plate, spoon, and cup. Charlene, of course, had her own dishes. With her table knife Charlene cut the bread, placing a piece of it on each plate. She then spooned some beans onto each plate.

Without a word they ate.

Charlene washed the

dishes in the still warm water, dried them and set them down. She then sat down on the porch steps still with- in the circle of light from the fire.

Fearfully she sat, covertly watching the young man as he glanced at her from time to time. Finally he seemed to reach a decision. He rose and tossed the gun out of sight in the darkness around the corner of the house. Then squaring his shoulders, he walked over and sat down beside Charlene. She had put her high heels on again, and she knew it would be useless as he could always get the gun and make her return. So she sat motionless, thinking swiftly about what could happen when he found out. "He'll be an- gry," she thought. "Or he might be like Hugh Tatum. I'll die if he's like that! Or maybe he's like Ed Hol- den."

to run,

Tingles of pleasure ran up her spine as she contem- plated this last possibility, to fade quickly in fear as he put an arm around her. She shrank away, but he

45.