and the flush which had gone into her cheeks drained until they were parchment white. "Not that," she said weakly.
"Just that!" The old man's voice was a rasp. "He's fought me to a standstill! He's fought me because you pumped him full of your damned moonshine, but that can't stop me—Nothin' can stop me now. I've had everything I've ever wanted until now. I want this Pine and you can't stop me!"
She had settled back to her chair and sickness swept through her—and a rebound of great strength—and then fresh dismay—His words rang in her ears as she drove back the tumult, crowding all the conflicting factors out of her consciousness, laying bare this one problem. She rose and spoke:
"You have had everything you wanted, Mr. Taylor?—Until now?—And so have I. But it happens now that we both want the same thing. I want it and you want it, but I am not going to let you have it, and you are going to let me keep it, safe—always."
"Eh?" He was stung by her confidence. "I'm going to help you! How's that? What makes you think that?"
"This," she said simply. "You think you have had everything you ever wanted. That is not so. You have missed the biggest thing, Mr. Taylor; you have missed contentment." She was holding to the edge of her desk with one hand to keep her body steady; she spoke slowly, so her voice would be clear; her heart seemed to have been stopped.
"I never saw you before yesterday, but I know a great deal about you. Men still tell stories of your camps.
