“Get—out—of—that—door,” she said distinctly, but for once she was not obeyed. The big girl standing on the threshold looked over her head at the trader. There was a little white line pinched in at the base of Nance’s nostrils, her blue eyes were colder and narrower than any one had ever seen them in her life. “McKane,” she said clearly, so that the hushed listeners behind her caught every syllable, “you know what a fight I’ve made to hold my own on Nameless since my father died—or was killed. You know how close to the wind I’ve sailed to eat, for you’ve sold me what we’ve had. And I’ve always managed to keep even, haven’t I?” “Yes,” said the trader uneasily. “Up till six months ago when I had to go in debt for a new harness or do no work in my fields this spring, I told you when I bought it, didn’t I, why I had to buy it?” “Yes,” he said again. “It was because someone went into my barn one night and cut the old harness into ribbons. That put me in debt to you for the first time.” She stopped and wet her lips. There was the sound of someone rising on the porch and Price Selwood moved in behind her. She felt him there and a thrill went through her, as if he had put a hand on her shoulder. “I told you when I bought it that I’d pay you when my corn was ripe—that, if it went well, I’d have far and away more than enough. Well, it went well—so well that I knew yesterday I’d come out ahead and be able to meet that debt and live beside. This morning that field of corn was gone—trampled out—cut to pieces like my harness—pounded into the dirt by a band of cattle that had been driven—driven, you understand—over every foot of it. There was a wide gap cut in the fence at the upper end. That’s all—but I can’t pay my debt to you.” She stopped and a sharp silence fell. Outside the store in the shade the stallion Bluefire screamed and stamped. Kate Cathrew took a quick step forward. “What for did you tell this drivel before me?” she said. “What’s it to me?” “Nothing, I know,” said Nance; “maybe a laugh—maybe a hope. My big flats on the river’d feed a pretty bunch of cattle through. And Homesteaders have been driven out of the cattle country before now.” “You hussy!” cried Cattle Kate, and, bending back she flung up the hand which held the braided quirt. The lash snapped viciously, but Nance Allison was quicker than the whip. Her own arm flashed up and she caught the descending wrist in the grip of a hand which had held a plow all spring. Like a lever her arm came down and forced Kate’s hand straight down to her knee, so that the flaming black eyes were within a few inches of her face. “Woman,” said Nance clearly, “I’m living up to my lights the best I can. I’m holding myself hard to walk in the straight road. The hand of God is before my face and you can’t hurt me—not lastingly. Now you—get—out—of—that—door.” And turning she moved Selwood with her as she swung the other, whirling like a Dervish, clear to the middle of the porch.