“Somehow I did,” he replied, with those penetrating eyes on her. “I put somethin’ in your tent that day. Did you find it?”
“Yes,” she replied, with the same casual coldness.
“What did you do with it?”
“I kicked it out, of course,” she replied.
She saw him flinch.
“And you never opened it?”
“Certainly not,” she retorted, as if forced. “Doon’t y’u know anythin’ about—about people? ... Shore even if y’u are an Isbel y’u never were born in Texas.”
“Thank God I wasn’t!” he replied. “I was born in a beautiful country of green meadows and deep forests and white rivers, not in a barren desert where men live dry and hard as the cactus. Where I come from men don’t live on hate. They can forgive.”
“Forgive! ... Could y’u forgive a Jorth?”
“Yes, I could.”