"Who's Bob?"
"My brother."
"Any more Claytons around here?" he sneered.
"No."
"Well," he said with truculent insolence; "what in Sam Hill are you-all doin' at the Lazy Y, anyway?"
"I am coming to that presently," she returned, unruffled.
"Goin' to work your jaw again, I reckon?" he taunted.
The hard calm came again into her face as she looked at him, though behind it was that subtle quality that hinted of her possession of advantage. Her manner made plain to him that she held some mysterious power over him, a power which she valued, even enjoyed, and he was nettled, baffled, and afflicted with a deep rage against her because of it. Dealing with a man he would have known what to do, but he felt strangely impotent in the presence of this girl, for she was not disturbed over his insults, and her quiet, direct glances affected him with a queer sensation of guilt, even embarrassed him.
"Well?" he prompted, after a silence.
"I am going to tell you about your father," she said.