When presently the girl at the melodeon ceased and drew the lid over the keys with reverent fingers, he moved silently back a pace or two along the wall. Then he waited. As he had anticipated, she came to the door to look upon the budding world, and for another moment he watched her with a strange expression. Then he swung forward and let the spurs rattle. Tharon flashed to face him like a startled animal.
“Hello, Tharon,” he said and smiled. The girl stared at him with quick insolence.
“Howdy,” she said coldly.
He came close to the doorway, put one hand on the facing, the other on his hip and leaned near. She drew back. He reached out suddenly and gripped her wrist in fingers that bit like steel.
“Pretty,” he said, while his dark eyes narrowed.
Tharon flung her whole young strength 8 against his grip with a twisting wrench and came free. The quick, tremendous effort left her calm. And she did not retreat a step.
“Hell,” said the man admiringly, “little wildcat!”
“What you want?” she asked sharply.
“You,” he answered swiftly.
“Buck Courtrey,” she said, “you might own an’ run Lost Valley––all but one outfit. You ain’t never run Last nor put your dirty hand on th’ Holdin’. An’ that ain’t all. You never will. If you ever touch me again, I’ll tell Dad Jim an’ he’ll kill you. I’d a-told him before when you met me that day on the range, only I didn’t want his honest hands smutted up with such as you. He’s had his killin’s before––but they was always in fair-an’-open. You he’d give no quarter––if he knew what you ben askin’ me.”