He waved his arms wildly, and Nettie shook her head, smiling at him sadly.
"Keep away from him, Jake. He's powerful strong, and there wouldn't be nothing much left of you if he once got his hands on you."
"Jake not afraid of the Bull," said the half-breed, shaking his head. "Listen, Nettie. Me—Jake Langdon—me take a peech fork, beeg long likea this, and me jab him in the eye of the Bull, yes? That's kill him."
"Oh, no, Jake. He'd get it from you. He'd rastle it out of your hands."
"Then me—Jake steal on house when he's sleep. Get a long big nail—like this big—hammer him into ear. That same way many Indian do."
"Keep away from him, Jake. You'll only get the worst of it."
"Jake don't mind worst. That's nothing. Jake no like see cry on Nettie."
"Well, then, I'll not cry any more. You pick me some more buttercups, Jake, and—and don't you worry about me. I'm all right."
Inside the shack, Dr. McDermott had broken his habitual Scotch reticence and blazed into fluent fury. He had met the Bar Q herd along the road, and had suspected something wrong. As he drove by Angella's fields he realized what had happened, and her first words confirmed his suspicions.