Ellen did not return his greeting, but queried, almost breathlessly, “Did y’u come by our ranch?”
“No. I circled,” he replied.
“Jean Isbel! What do y’u want heah?” she demanded.
“Don’t you know?” he returned. His eyes were intensely black and piercing. They seemed to search Ellen’s very soul. To meet their gaze was an ordeal that only her rousing fury sustained.
Ellen felt on her lips a scornful allusion to his half-breed Indian traits and the reputation that had preceded him. But she could not utter it.
“No,” she replied.
“It’s hard to call a woman a liar,” he returned, bitterly. But you must be—seein’ you’re a Jorth.
“Liar! Not to y’u, Jean Isbel,” she retorted. “I’d not lie to y’u to save my life.”
He studied her with keen, sober, moody intent. The dark fire of his eyes thrilled her.
“If that’s true, I’m glad,” he said.