"Shucks! That don't do any good. It don't buy you anything." She swung upon him abruptly. "Don't you hate the men at the camp when they knock you around?" "What'd be the use? I duck outa the way next time." Two savage little demons glared at him out of her dark eyes. "Ain't you got any sand in yore craw, Bob Dillon? Do you aim to let folks run on you all yore life? I'd fight 'em if 't was the last thing I ever did." "Different here. I'd get my block knocked off about twice a week. You don't see me in any scraps where I ain't got a look-in. I'd rather let 'em boot me a few," he said philosophically. She frowned at him, in a kind of puzzled wonderment. "You're right queer. If I was a man--" The sentence died out. She was not a man. The limitations of sex encompassed her. In Jake Houck's arms she had been no more than an infant. He would crush her resistance--no matter whether it was physical or mental--and fling out at her the cruel jeering laughter of one who could win without even exerting his strength. She would never marry him--never, never in the world. But-- A chill dread drenched her heart. Young Dillon was sensitive to impressions. His eyes, fixed on the girl's face, read something of her fears. "This man--who is he?" he asked. "Jake Houck. I never saw him till last night. My father knew him when--when he was young." "What's the matter with this Houck? Why don't you like him?" "If you'd see him--how he looks at me." She flashed to anger. "As if I was something he owned and meant to tame." "Oh, well, you know the old sayin', a cat may look at a king. He can't harm you." "Can't he? How do you know he can't?" she challenged. "How can he, come to that?" "I don't say he can." Looked at in cold blood, through the eyes of another, the near-panic that had seized her a few hours earlier appeared ridiculous. "But I don't have to like him, do I? He acted--hateful--if you want to know." "How d'you mean--hateful?" A wave of color swept through her cheeks to the brown throat. How could she tell him that there was something in the man's look that had disrobed her, something in his ribald laugh that had made her feel unclean? Or that the fellow had brushed aside the pride and dignity that fenced her and ravished kisses from her lips while he mocked? She could not have put her feeling into words if she had tried, and she had no intention of trying. "Mean," she said. "A low-down, mean bully."