Her thought flew upon her like whips.

Pride of the Jorths! Pride of the old Texan blue blood! It lay dead at her feet, killed by the scornful words of the last of that family to whom she owed her degradation.

Daughter of a horse thief and rustler! Dark and evil and grim set the forces within her, accepting her fate, damning her enemies, true to the blood of the Jorths.

The sins of the father must be visited upon the daughter.
"Shore y'u might have had me--that day on the Rim--if y'u hadn't told your name," she said, mockingly, and she gazed into his eyes with all the mystery of a woman's nature.
Isbel's powerful frame shook as with an ague.

"Girl, what do you mean ?" "Shore, I'd have been plumb fond of havin' y'u make up to me," she drawled.