Nor--now that she realized what portended--did her gaze waver as it met Antrim's.

Her eyes glowed with contempt as they looked into his--with a proud scorn that brought a crimson flush into Antrim's cheeks.

It had been that spirit that had always enraged Antrim--that had always made him realize his inferiority to her husband, and to the steady-eyed son who had shamed him publicly at Willets.

It was a thing that physical violence could not conquer; it revealed a quiet courage that had always disconcerted him.
"Hell!" he sneered; "you can't come any of that high an' mighty stuff on me!" He twisted her until she faced the door, and then shoved her before him across the porch and down upon the level on the ranchhouse yard, toward the stable and the corral.
She did not resist, knowing that physical resistance would be futile.
He shoved her into the stable, and she stood there, unresisting while he saddled a horse.

She could not see him, but she could hear him as he moved about; and presently he spoke shortly to her from a point close by: "Here's a cayuse--saddled an' bridled.