Storm's eyes made everything else blind dark to the American.
"Far east," he said, "by the Atlantic coast, Nan sits at her window, sewing all day long, shirts, always shirts. Her fingers are stiff with cramp, and she cries and cries."
"What business is that of yours? You leave my private affairs to me. What do you know, anyways?"
"Nothing much, shipmate. It's your affair that you'll take oath to leave our women here alone, or their men kill you when you cross that doorstep. Take oath, swear to God that you leave the women of the Kutenais alone, or you cross the doorstep now."
He went to the doorway, and stood with his hand on the latch.
"You take your choice," he said.
"I ain't panting any," said the American disdainfully, "after your damned homely old squaws."
"On your oath?"'
"Honest to God!"
"See that you keep your word."