Thank you.

But how can I accept you as a friend?
Think! Why, you'd ride down into the village with those terrible guns and kill my enemies--who are also my churchmen." "I reckon I might be riled up to jest about that," he replied, dryly.
She held out both hands to him.
"Lassiter! I'll accept your friendship--be proud of it--return it--if I may keep you from killing another Mormon." "I'll tell you one thing," he said, bluntly, as the gray lightning formed in his eyes.

"You're too good a woman to be sacrificed as you're goin' to be....

No, I reckon you an' me can't be friends on such terms." In her earnestness she stepped closer to him, repelled yet fascinated by the sudden transition of his moods.

That he would fight for her was at once horrible and wonderful.
"You came here to kill a man--the man whom Milly Erne--" "The man who dragged Milly Erne to hell--put it that way!...