The sentence died out. She was not a man. The limitations of sex encompassed her. In Jake Houck’s arms she had been no more than an infant. He would crush her resistance—no matter whether it was physical or mental—and fling out at her the cruel jeering laughter of one who could win without even exerting his strength. She would never marry him—never, never in the world. But—
A chill dread drenched her heart.
Young Dillon was sensitive to impressions. His eyes, fixed on the girl’s face, read something of her fears.
“This man—who is he?” he asked.
“Jake Houck. I never saw him till last night. My father knew him when—when he was young.”
“What’s the matter with this Houck? Why don’t you like him?”
“If you’d see him—how he looks at me.” She flashed to anger. “As if I was something he owned and meant to tame.”
“Oh, well, you know the old sayin’, a cat may look at a king. He can’t harm you.”
“Can’t he? How do you know he can’t?” she challenged.
“How can he, come to that?”