Bub took the first turn at watching while Dave slept, and when it
was Dave's turn she saw him drop quickly asleep in his chair, and
she was left alone with the breathing of the wounded man and the
beating of rain on the roof. And through the long night June
thought her brain weary over herself, her life, her people, and
Hale. They were not to blame--her people, they but did as their
fathers had done before them. They had their own code and they
lived up to it as best they could, and they had had no chance to
learn another. She felt the vindictive hatred that had prolonged
the feud. Had she been a man, she could not have rested until she
had slain the man who had ambushed her father. She expected Bub to
do that now, and if the spirit was so strong in her with the
training she had had, how helpless they must be against it. Even
Dave was not to blame--not to blame for loving her--he had always
done that. For that reason he could not help hating Hale, and how
great a reason he had now, for he could not understand as she
could the absence of any personal motive that had governed him in
the prosecution of the law, no matter if he hurt friend or foe.
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