At first she had argued unceasingly with herself against the unreasoning love she knew she bore for the tall, flame-haired frontiersman. She told herself that it was the drama she had experienced with him. She added that it was the strangeness of his type which had attracted her. But no amount of hereditary calm could talk down the fact that she did love him, bandit and killer though he might be. The night she had found herself alone in the cabin had become symbolical of what he meant to her. In Puma Pass she was out of place and felt it keenly. She seemed to dwell at some distance from the town and though broad hats were always tipped and men made way for her with gallantry wherever she went, she could feel the bars between herself and these hard-living Westerners. They treated her with much restraint for two reasons. She was a “good woman,” the first to come to Puma Pass, and she was the daughter of Slim Trotwood, otherwise Double-Deck, otherwise Boston Slim, whose reign in the mountains had become intolerable.
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