"Did I say she paid it in money?"

"What do you mean?"

"She asked me to set you free. I named my price, and she agreed."

"What was your price?" the boy asked hoarsely.

"A kiss."

At that, Phil struck him full in the sardonic, mocking face. Blood
crimsoned the lips that had been crushed against the strong, white
teeth.

"Again," said Weaver.

The brown fist went back and shot forward like a piston rod. This time
it left an ugly gash over the cheek bone.

"Much obliged. Once more."

The young man balanced himself carefully, and struck hard and true
between the eyes.

A third, a fourth, and a fifth time Phil lashed out at the disfigured,
grinning face.

"Let's make it an even half dozen," the cattleman suggested.