"Guess there ain't goin' to be no trouble gettin' what's my own. The law's on my side. I've got as much right to that kid, that's my own stuff, as the gell has."
"Oh, have you?" said Angella coolly. "Unfortunately for you, the child is no longer even Nettie's. It's mine. She gave me her child for adoption."
"She hadn't no right to do that," said the Bull in a sudden access of rage. "It ain't hers to give away."
"Oh, isn't it, though?"
"No, it ain't, and I'll show you a thing o' two. There won't be no funny business with guns neither when a couple of mounties come up here after what's mine."
"I wouldn't talk about the law if I were you. You see, when you committed that crime against Nettie, she happened to be a minor. I don't know just how many years in the penitentiary that may mean for you. Her lawyers will know."
At the word "penitentiary," his face had turned gray. Nettie's youth had never occurred to him before, nor what it might mean for him.
"Besides," went on the Englishwoman, "apart from the legal aspects of the case, I wonder that you take a chance in a country like this. Consider what is likely to happen to you, if the truth about Nettie becomes known in this ranching country. We have an unwritten law of our own in such cases, you know, and everybody has been blaming an innocent boy. What will they say—what will they do, when they know that the most detested and hated man in the country attacked a young, defenseless girl when she was alone in his house? I wouldn't care to be in your shoes when that fact leaks out, as you may be sure it will. I'll take care of that! You can trust me to denounce you without reserve!"
The Bull shouted, purple with rage: