“Yes, I cut it. You’ve got no right to keep your 26 wife, or anybody else, chained up. You could be put in jail for it; it’s against the law.”
“A man’s got a right to do what he pleases with his own woman; she’s his property, the same as a horse.”
“Not exactly the same as a horse, either. But you could be put in jail for beating your horse. I’ve waited here to tell you about this, in a friendly way, and warn you to treat this woman right. Maybe you didn’t know you were breaking the law, but I’m telling you it’s so.”
Swan stood, his head within six inches of the ceiling. His wife must have read an intention of violence in his face, although Mackenzie could mark no change in his features, always as immobile as bronze. She sprang to her feet, her bosom agitated, arms lifted, shoulders raised, as if to shrink from the force of a blow. She made no effort to reach the ax behind the door; the thought of it had gone, apparently, out of her mind.
Swan stood within four feet of her, but he gave her no attention.
“When a man comes to my house and monkeys with my woman, him and me we’ve got to have a fight,” he said.