"Then I'll call on Blondy."

"You don't dare to. Don't you try to bluff me. I'm not that kind."

"Betty, d'you mean that? D'you think that I'm yaller?"

"I don't care what you are."

"I ask you calm and impersonal, just think that over before you say it."

"I've already thought it over."

"Then, by God," said Gregg, trembling, "I'll never take one step out of my
way to see you again."

He turned, so blind with fury that he shouldered the door on his way out
and so, into the saddle, with Grey Molly standing like a figure of rock, as
if she sensed his mood. He swung her about on her hind legs with a wrench
on the curb and a lift of his spurs, but when she leaped into a gallop he
brought her back to the walk with a cruel jerk; she began to sidle across
the field with her chin drawn almost back to her breast, prancing. That
movement of the horse brought him half way around towards the door and he
was tempted mightily to look, for he knew that Betty Neal was standing
there, begging him with her eyes. But the great, sullen pain conquered; he
straightened out the mare for the gate.

Betty was indeed at the door, leaning against it in a sudden weakness, and
even in her pain she felt pride in the grace and skill of Vic's
horsemanship. The hearts of both of them were breaking, with this rather
typical difference: that Gregg felt her to be entirely at fault, and that