He put his arm across and closed the book.
“Better git this thing clear.”
“Isn’t it clear?”
“Nope. Listen here—we got enough grub to carry us over the winter, that and no more. My last wad of dollars went to buy them dawgs. I guess you think I’m trash, and perhaps I am, but up here in the North men stick by their pardners till they strike gold or leave their bones on the trail. You’re my pard now—won’t you act on that and make the best of it?”
Her eyes shone defiantly in the glare of the paraffin lamp. Appealing to her sense of justice was useless in the face of circumstances.
“You call it partnership when the one is forced against her will, and the other uses every kind of diabolical means to assist his mastery? I am coming with you because there is no way out 183 of it. You understand. Nothing but force can save me—I see that. Your code of life is based on brute strength devoid of any kind of moral sense.”
His lips moved in a way that evidenced his resentment.
“What you call ’moral sense’ is a pretty queer thing, I allow. It lets a man sell his daughter for hard cash, and it lets that daughter play with a man’s feelings. If that’s moral sense I ain’t takin’ none.”
“Will you never forget that? Do you think I would have gone on with that had I believed you misinterpreted the whole thing?”
“Misinterpreted! Say, do your kisses allow of misinterpretation?”