He resented the rebuke, but chiefly her self-control. The bully in him wanted to see tears, to see her overawed and humble; she had too much assurance for a social cipher. If she did not realize that fact yet, it was for him to let her know it. He brought the front legs of his chair down with a thump and thundered: "Yes--it's closed, and it won't be opened, neither! You'd better not start in tryin' to stir up somethin', or you'll be sorry--as it is, you're a detriment to the community!" He mistook her white-faced silence, and added with less violence: "Why don't you fade away, anyhow--sell out and get into something in your line in some good town or city?" She was shivering as with a chill as she walked closer and asked in a hoarse whisper: "What would you suggest--exactly?" Ah, this was more like it! There was something even beneficent in his relaxed features as he answered: "You could open a first-class place with your stake. It's quick and big money, if you can get the right kind of a stand-in with the police. No cheap joint, but a high-toned dance hall in some burg where you can get a liquor license. That's my advice to you." "It's what I thought you meant, but I wanted to be sure of it!" Her voice came between her teeth, guttural, and the face into which his startled eyes looked was the face of Jezebel of the Sand Coulee. "I'd kill you if I had anything to do it with, but, so help me God, you shan't say that to me and get away with it!" The girl struck him full across the face with such force that he recoiled under it, while the prints of her fingers stood out like scars on his sallow cheek for a full minute. She was gone before he recovered, but curses followed her as she ran panting in her blind rage down the narrow stairway. Kate felt as though liquid fire were racing through her veins, like some one rushing from a house with his clothes on fire, as she tore open the knot of the bridle reins and swung into the saddle. She did not need to hear the words to know that the guffaw which reached her from a group on the sidewalk was inspired by some coarse witticism concerning her. There was not a single friendly pair of eyes, or one pair that was even neutral, among the many that looked at her and after her as she gave her horse its head and let it clatter at a gallop that was all but a run down the main street and over the road that led out of Prouty. It was a crisis, and intuitively she recognized it--one of those emotional climaxes that sear and burn and leave their scars forever. The powerful horse bounded up the steep grade without slackening, but at the top she checked it, and from the edge of the bench stood looking down upon the crude town sprawling on the flat beneath her. It represented one antagonistic personality to her, and as such she addressed it aloud, with deliberately chosen words, as one throwing down the gauntlet to an enemy.