“Let ’em; I’ll not be in it.”
“They’ll worry you night and day, kill your sheep, maybe kill you, if you don’t come away. It isn’t worth it; dad was right about it. For the sake of peace, let them have it, John.”
Mackenzie stood in silence, looking the way Swan and his woman had gone, the gun held as if ready to lift and fire at the showing of a hat-crown over the next hill. He seemed to be considering the situation. Joan studied his face with eager hopefulness, bending forward a bit to see better in the failing light.
“They’ve got to be shown that a master has come to the sheep country,” he said, in low voice, as if to himself. “I’ll stay and prove it to all of them at once.”
Joan knew there was no use to argue or appeal. She dropped the matter there, and Mackenzie put the gun away.
“I’m sorry I haven’t anything to put on it,” he said, looking at the red welt on her neck.
“I’m sorry I missed her,” said Joan.
“It isn’t so much the sting of a blow, I know,” he comforted, “as the hurt of the insult. Never mind it, Joan; she’s a vicious, wild woman, jealous because Swam took notice of you.”
“It was a great compliment!”