The course of Helen’s saunterings took her toward the rock slide that made the gateway of the valley. She was wondering if it could have been left unguarded, when a rough voice warned her back. Looking round, she caught sight of a man seated cross-legged on a great boulder. It took only a second glance to certify that the man was her former foreman, Judd Morgan.
She had never seen anything more malevolent than his triumph.
“Better stay in the valley, Miss Messiter. Y’u might right easily get lost outside,” he jeered.
Without reply she turned her back on him and began to retrace her way to the house. Stung by her contempt, he sprang up and strode after her.
“So y’u won’t speak to me, eh? Think yourself too good to speak to a common everyday God damned white man, do y’u?”
Apparently she did not know he was on the map. In a fury he caught at her shoulder and whirled her round.
“Now, by God, do y’u see me? I’m Judd Morgan, the man y’u kicked off the Lazy D. I told y’u then y’u were going to be sorry long as y’u lived.”
“Don’t you dare touch me, you hound!” Her blazing eyes menaced him so fiercely that he hesitated.
There was the sound of a quick, light step running toward them. Morgan half turned, was caught in a grip of steel and hurled headlong among a pile of broken rocks.
“Y’u would dare, would y’u?” panted his assailant, passionately, ready to obliterate the offender if he showed fight.