This slanting hole was dark in the midst of the green with the late light upon it, like the sinister entrance to some underground cavern.
“Well,” said Provine amusedly, “how do you like it?”
The girl did not reply, but sat still with her hands crossed on her saddle horn.
The snaky eyes under the black brows lost their drowsy pleasantry.
“I wouldn’t advise you, purty,” he said, “to come the high-and-mighty with me. A little kindness, now, would go a long way towards an understandin’. Get off that horse.”
Without a word Nance obeyed.
A little cold touch was at her inmost heart, but that tight, tense feeling of strength was still with her. She measured Provine’s shoulders with her eyes as he unsaddled the animals and turned them out to graze. She looked at his long arms, his lean and sinewy back.
“I’ve handled my plow all spring,” she said to herself sagely, “I pitched hay all day and was not too tired at night. I can lift a grain sack easy. I’ll sell out hard if I have to—for Mammy and Brand and Bud and Sonny.”
And when Provine turned and come toward her, smiling, he was met by blue eyes that were hard as shining stone, a mouth like a line of battle and hands clutched hard on folded arms.
“Oh, ho,” he said, “we’re goin’ to butt our head agin a wall, ain’t we? Cut it, kid, an’ kiss me—you might as well now as later. An’ besides, I don’t like a mouth all mashed up from discipline.”