"None of your business!" retorted Lucy. Then, at a strange darkening of his face, an aspect unfamiliar to her, she grew suddenly frightened.
"It's Van!" he said, thickly.
"Joel, you're a fool!"
That only infuriated him.
"So they all say. An' they got my old man believin' it, too. Mebbe I am.... But I'm a-goin' to kill Van!"
"No! No! Joel, what are you saying? I don't love Van. I don't care any more for him than for any other rider—or—or you."
"Thet's a lie, Lucy Bostil!"
"How dare you say I lie?" demanded Lucy. "I've a mind to turn my back on you. I'm trying to make up for my blunder and you—you insult me!"
"You talk sweet ... but talk isn't enough. You made me no-good .... Will you marry me?"
"I will not!" And Lucy, with her blood up, could not keep contempt out of voice and look, and she did not care. That was the first time she had ever shown anything, approaching ridicule for Joel. The effect was remarkable. Like a lash upon a raw wound it made him writhe; but more significant to Lucy was the sudden convulsive working of his features and the wildness of his eyes. Then she turned her back, not from contempt, but to hurry away from him.