“But, Ina, you will? This is serious business for me,” implored her father, hoarsely.
“I’m sorry, Dad. You were wrong to encourage him,” replied Ina, softening for an instant. “For I absolutely will never look at him again.”
“Girl, who are you to cross me this way? I’ll have obedience,” he went on, in low–voiced fury. “Come out hyar, before I break down that door.”
He laid a heavy hand on the knob and shook it violently. Ina stood up to face him, and she paused before answering. This was the crucial moment. Alas! She felt sick at heart. But it was her life, her happiness at stake, and she knew he was hard, ignorant, intolerant, if not worse. Then she heard herself speaking coldly, clearly:
“Father, if you break in here and drag me out in front of that cur, I’ll go to Hammell if I have to walk—and I’ll get a job if I have to be waitress in the hotel.”
She heard his choking, husky ejaculation. Then silence ensued for a long moment. The handle of the door turned, but it was only with release. Her father’s step sounded heavily, backing away. Then her mother’s voice broke the silence: “Hart, I couldn’t help but hear. Don’t be mad at Ina.”
“Mad? Haw, haw, haw!” he rejoined, harshly. “Reckon I was mad, but she licked me—that college daughter of yours—by Gawd! she’s licked me.”
Chapter Eight
SHORTLY after the altercation with her father Ina had a visit from her mother.
“He’s gone, daughter, an’ I reckon I never saw him so stumped in all our years together,” she said, with unconscious satisfaction.
“I feel pretty shaky now,” replied Ina, with a queer little laugh. “But, Mother, I couldn’t stand it any longer.”
They sat on the steps of Ina’s tent porch, from which the ranch cabins could be plainly seen. Her father and McAdam were standing in plain sight. Ina could translate that interview from the deprecatory gestures of her father and the wild ones of her rejected suitor. The most amazing thing then was to see her father abruptly turn his back upon McAdam and go into the cabin.
“Hart can be awful bullheaded when he’s mad,” muttered Mrs. Blaine, as if speaking to herself.
“Mother, it’s a wonder to me that young nincompoop didn’t make dad mad long ago,” rejoined Ina, with a giggle.
“Your father has a mighty lot of patience where money is concerned.”
“I’m afraid he has become deeply involved with the McAdams.”
“Hart Blaine has got involved with everybody, particularly this man Setter,” said Mrs. Blaine, in bitter impatience. “He’s changed. He won’t listen to me. We were poor so long that money when it came set him crazy.”
“Then it’d be a good thing for him to lose some of it,” declared Ina.
“That’s what I told him. Land’s sake! I thought he’d knock me over…. Well, well, maybe things will come out. You needn’t tell it, daughter, but I’m glad you wouldn’t marry young McAdam. He didn’t suit me at all. I try to keep my ideas to myself, as I don’t seem to fit well in this new world of ours. Just now I happened to be at the door of my tent when young McAdam came up to you. I thought you was asleep in the hammock. An’ when you jumped away from him I sure wanted one of the cowboys to happen along. Then when you slapped him—that tickled me. Well, I hope we’ve seen the last of McAdam an’ can have a little comfort by ourselves on Sundays.”