The meaning she read in his mocking, half-closed eyes startled the girl.
Seeing this, he added with a shrug: "Just as you say about that. We'll make you Mrs. MacQueen on the level if
you like."
The passion in her surged up. "I'd rather lie dead at your feet--I'd
rather starve in these hills--I'd rather put a knife in my heart!"
He clapped his hands. "Fine! Fine! That Bernhardt woman hasn't got a
thing on you when it comes to acting, my dear. You put that across bully.
Never saw it done better."
"You--coward!" Her voice broke and she turned to leave him.
"Stop!" The ring of the word brought her feet to a halt. MacQueen padded
across till he faced her. "Don't make any mistake, girl. You're mine. I
don't care how. If it suits you to have a priest mumble words over us,
good enough. But I'm the man you've got to get ready to love."
"I hate you."
"That's a good start, you little catamount."
"I'd rather die--a thousand times rather."
"Not you, my dear. You think you would right now, but inside of a week
you'll be hunting for pet names to give me."
She ran blindly toward the house where her room was. On the way she passed
at a little distance Dunc Boone and did not see him. His hungry eyes
followed her--a slender creature of white and russet and gold, vivid as a
hillside poppy, compact of life and fire and grace. He, too, was a
miscreant and a villain, lost to honor and truth, but just now she held
his heart in the hollow of her tightly clenched little fist. Good men and
bad, at bottom we are all made of the same stuff, once we are down to the
primal emotions that go deeper than civilization's veneer.