She swallowed dryly, almost choking.
“Just what to do. I’m goin’ to that meetin’ at the Arrow tonight.”
She got to her feet, staring down at him.
“You going to that meeting? Why, you won’t be welcome. Don’t be a fool, Jack. They know you won’t be there.”
“I’ll be there,” Jack nodded slowly, but did not look at her. “Molly, you married a cowpuncher, not a sheepherder. This is my country. I—I reckon I hate sheep as bad as anybody around here, and I’ve got to help keep ’em out.”
“You have?” She sat down and stared across the table at him. “After what they’ve done to us?”
“Yeah—even after that.”
“You’d fight against—me?”
“You? Why, bless yore heart, Molly; it ain’t you.”
“It’s my father, my folks. He never did you any harm.”