She seemed to hear again Brand Fair’s exultant words: “You’ll never leave the line, Nance, never in this world!”
With a dogged courage heaving through the anger she looked back at Arnold.
“Well?” she said.
“Big Basford hasn’t had a woman of his own for many moons, I know. Now—will you sign this deed—or will you go with Basford to Rainbow’s Pot—his blushing bride?”
Nance’s breast was heaving. Great breaths dilated her lungs and whistled out again. Her hands were shut tight, the fingers on her hat brim crimping the weathered felt.
She thought of her Mammy—of Bud—of their long labor and the hardships they had borne. She thought of the cabin on Nameless—of its white scrubbed floors—its homely comforts—and all it meant to them and to her. It was her Pappy’s dream of empire—it had been hers. She thought of Brand Fair and of Sonny. Of Brand and Bud who would sure start the fire to burning in all the lonely reaches at news of her disappearance—and—
“I’m as good as most men,” she said, “to take care of myself. I wouldn’t sign that paper to save you and all your rustler nest from eternal damnation! And that’s my last word.”
Arnold snapped his fingers.
“Enough,” he said, “we’ll see what a night in Rainbow’s Pot will do for you. Basford—my compliments. I give you the beautiful lady. Properly disciplined she’ll make you a fine wife.”
But Big Basford shook his unkempt head.