“How dare—you!” cried Carley. A hot anger that stirred in her seemed to be beaten down and smothered by a cold shaking internal commotion, threatening collapse. This man loomed over her, huge, somehow monstrous in his brawny uncouth presence. And his knowing smile, and the hard, glinting twinkle of his light eyes, devilishly intelligent and keen, in no wise lessened the sheer brutal force of him physically. Sight of his bulk was enough to terrorize Carley.
“Me! Aw, I’m a darin’ hombre an’ a devil with the wimmin,” he said, with a guffaw.
Carley could not collect her wits. The instant of his pushing her back into the cabin and following her had shocked her and almost paralyzed her will. If she saw him now any the less fearful she could not so quickly rally her reason to any advantage.
“Let me out of here,” she demanded.
“Nope. I’m a-goin’ to make a little love to you,” he said, and he reached for her with great hairy hands.
Carley saw in them the strength that had so easily swung the sheep. She saw, too, that they were dirty, greasy hands. And they made her flesh creep.
“Glenn will kill—you,” she panted.
“What fer?” he queried, in real or pretended surprise. “Aw, I know wimmin. You’ll never tell him.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Wal, mebbe. I reckon you’re lyin’, Pretty Eyes,” he replied, with a grin. “Anyhow, I’ll take a chance.”