“What for did you tell this drivel before me?” she said. “What’s it to me?”
“Nothing, I know,” said Nance; “maybe a laugh—maybe a hope. My big flats on the river’d feed a pretty bunch of cattle through. And Homesteaders have been driven out of the cattle country before now.”
“You hussy!” cried Cattle Kate, and, bending back she flung up the hand which held the braided quirt. The lash snapped viciously, but Nance Allison was quicker than the whip. Her own arm flashed up and she caught the descending wrist in the grip of a hand which had held a plow all spring.
Like a lever her arm came down and forced Kate’s hand straight down to her knee, so that the flaming black eyes were within a few inches of her face.
“Woman,” said Nance clearly, “I’m living up to my lights the best I can. I’m holding myself hard to walk in the straight road. The hand of God is before my face and you can’t hurt me—not lastingly. Now you—get—out—of—that—door.”
And turning she moved Selwood with her as she swung the other, whirling like a Dervish, clear to the middle of the porch.
Kate Cathrew’s face was livid, terrible to look upon.
She ran the short distance to the end of the platform, leaped off and darted to her horse, her hands clawing at the rifle which hung on her saddle.
Selwood pushed Nance inside the store and flung the door shut.
“That woman’s a maniac for the moment,” he said, “you’re best in there.”