Ellen strode out from the shadow of the tall men who had obscured her.
“Bruce, y’u’re a liar,” she said, bitingly.
The surprise of her sudden appearance seemed to root Bruce to the spot. All but the discolored places on his face turned white. He held his breath a moment, then expelled it hard. His effort to recover from the shock was painfully obvious. He stammered incoherently.
“Shore y’u’re more than a liar, too,” cried Ellen, facing him with blazing eyes. And the rifle, gripped in both hands, seemed to declare her intent of menace. “That row was not about sheep.... Jean Isbel didn’t beat y’u for anythin’ about sheep.... Old John Sprague was in Greaves’s store. He heard y’u. He saw Jean Isbel beat y’u as y’u deserved.... An’ he told ME!”
Ellen saw Bruce shrink in fear of his life; and despite her fury she was filled with disgust that he could imagine she would have his blood on her hands. Then she divined that Bruce saw more in the gathering storm in her father’s eyes than he had to fear from her.
“Girl, what the hell are y’u sayin’?” hoarsely called Jorth, in dark amaze.
“Dad, y’u leave this to me,” she retorted.
Daggs stepped beside Jorth, significantly on his right side. “Let her alone Lee,” he advised, coolly. “She’s shore got a hunch on Bruce.”
“Simm Bruce, y’u cast a dirty slur on my name,” cried Ellen, passionately.
It was then that Daggs grasped Jorth’s right arm and held it tight, “Jest what I thought,” he said. “Stand still, Lee. Let’s see the kid make him showdown.”