"You
daren't harm a hair of my head, and he knows it. For your life,
you daren't."
His eyes glittered. Wolf Leroy was never a safe man to fling a
challenge at. "Don't you be too sure of that, my dear. There
ain't one thing on this green earth I daren't do if I set my mind
to it. And your friends know it."
The other man broke in, easy and unmoved. "Hold yore hawses, cap.
We got no call to be threatening this young lady. We keep her for
a ransom because that's business. But she's as safe here as she
would be at the Rocking Chair. She's got York Neil's word for
that."
The Wolf snarled. "The word of a miscreant. That'll comfort her a
heap. And York Neil's word don't always go up here."
The cowpuncher's steady eyes met him. "It'll go this time."
The girl gave her champion a quiet little nod and a low "Thank
you." It was not much, but enough. For on the frontier "white
men" do not war on women. Her instinct gave just the right manner
of treating his help. It assumed that since he was what he was he
could do no less. Moreover, it had the unexpected effect of
spurring the Wolf's vanity, or something better than his vanity.
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