"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.

He leaped after her and grasped her with rude hands.

"Let me go!" cried Lucy, standing perfectly motionless. The hard clutch of his
fingers roused a fierce, hot anger.

Joel did not heed her command. He was forcing her back. He talked
incoherently. One glimpse of his face added terror to Lucy's fury.

"Joel, you're out of your head!" she cried, and she began to wrench and writhe