Always she had a smile for me, and now it smote me, for I in a sense, had betrayed her.
"Miss Sampson," I began, awkwardly yet swiftly, "I--I got to thinking it over, and the idea struck me, maybe you felt bad about this gun-fighter Blome coming down here to kill Steele.

At first I imagined you felt sick just because there might be blood spilled.

Then I thought you've showed interest in Steele--naturally his kind of Ranger work is bound to appeal to women--you might be sorry it couldn't go on, you might care." "Russ, don't beat about the bush," she said interrupting my floundering.
"You know I care." How wonderful her eyes were then--great dark, sad gulfs with the soul of a woman at the bottom! Almost I loved her myself; I did love her truth, the woman in her that scorned any subterfuge.
Instantly she inspired me to command over myself.

"Listen," I said.
"Jack Blome has come here to meet Steele.

There will be a fight.