“Miss—ah—Allison,” said Arnold, “there is no need for dramatics. Neither will they avail you. We wanted to see you—to talk business with you. So we sent for you.”
“So I see,” said Nance, “or rather you kidnapped me.”
“Not so decided, please. We don’t like such words. They are—ah—crude, I might say.”
“Not half so crude as you will find the methods of Nameless when this gets out, I guess,” said Nance. “Heaven knows I don’t amount to much, but I am likely to be a torch for a fire that’s smouldering.”
“We have extinguishers,” smiled Arnold. “Sky Line is a pretty fire department, if I do say it. The thing for you to do just now is—think, I’ll give you ten minutes.”
“I don’t need them,” said Nance. “I’ve thought for several years—about my father’s death—my brother’s crippled body—my missing cattle—my burned stacks—and many other things. I’m thinking now about Sheriff Selwood—and Bossick’s latest loss.”
The man’s face hardened, yet a reluctant admiration drew a slight smile across it.
“You take liberties, Miss Allison. Are you not—speaking in jest—a little—ah—afraid to speak so broadly?”
Nance laughed bitterly, shifting on her feet in their worn boots.
“Afraid? No—not of you—nor of your hired rustlers—nor of Cattle Kate, there, with her paint and her tempers. I’m not afraid of anything but the wrath of God.”