"No, no! it was a wrong as great as the other."

"Why, they're even pa.s.sing remarks about her mother, those that don't know where you got her,--saying it was some one you never married, because the book shows your first wife was this one-handed woman here."

"I know, I know it. I meant to let her go back at first, but she took hold of me, and her father and mother were both dead."

"She's got a grandfather and grandmother, alive and hearty, back at Springfield."

"She is all that has kept me alive these last years."

"She's got to go back to her people now. She'll want to bad enough when she knows about this."

"About this? Surely you won't tell her--"

"Look here now, why not? What do you expect?"

"But she loves me--she _does_--and she's all I've got. Man, man! don't pile it all on me just at the last."

He was off the bed and on his knees before Follett.

"Don't put it all on me. I've rounded up my back to the rest of it, but keep this off; please, please don't. Let her always think I'm not bad.

Give me that one thing out of all the world."

He tried to reach the young man's hand, but was pushed roughly away.

"Don't do that--get up--stop, I tell you. That ain't any way to do.

There now! Lie down again. What do you _want_? I'm not going to leave that ain't any way to do. There now! Lie down again. What do you want?

I'm not going to leave that girl with you nor with your infernal Church. You understand that."

"Yes, yes, I know it. It was right that you should be the one to come and take her away. The Lord's vengeance was well thought out. Oh, how much more he can make us suffer than you could with your clumsy killings! She must go, but wait--not yet--not yet. Oh, my G.o.d! I couldn't stand it to see her go. It would cut into my heart and leave me to bleed to death. No, no, no--don't! Please don't! Don't pile it all on me at the last. The end has come anyway. Don't do that--don't, don't!"

"There, there, be still now." There was a rough sort of soothing in Follett's voice, and they were both silent a moment. Then the young man went on:

"But what do you expect? Suppose everything was left to you, Mister.

Come now, you're _trying_ to talk fair. Suppose I leave it to you--only you know you can't keep her."

"Yes, it can't be, but let her stay a little while; let me see her a few times more; let me know she doesn't think I'm bad; and promise never to tell her all of it. Let her always think I was a good man. Do promise me that. I'd do it for you, Follett. It won't hurt you. Let her think I was a good man."

"How long do you want her to stay here?--a week, ten days?"

"It will kill me when she goes!"

"Oh, well, two weeks?"

"That's good of you; you're kinder at your age than I was--I shall die when she goes."

"Well, I wouldn't want to live if I were you."

"Just a little longer, knowing that she cares for me. I've never been free to have the love of a woman the way you will some day, though I've hungered and sickened for it--for a woman who would understand and be close. But this girl has been the soul of it some way. See here, Follett, let her stay this summer, or until I'm dead. That can't be a long time. I've felt the end coming for a year now. Let her stay, believing in me. Let me know to the last that I'm the only man who has been in her heart, who has won her confidence and her love. Oh, I mean fair. You stay with us yourself and watch. Come--but look there, _look_, man!"

"Well,--what?"

"That candle is going out,--we'll be in the dark"--he grasped the other's arm--"in the dark, and now I'm afraid again. Don't leave me here! It would be an awful death to die. Here's that thing now on the bed behind me. It's trying to get around in front where I'll have to see it--get another candle. No--don't leave me,--this one will go out while you're gone." All his strength went into the grip on Follett's arm. The candle was sputtering in its pool of grease.

"There, it's gone--now don't, don't leave me. It's trying to crawl over me--I smell the blood--"

"Well--lie down there--it serves you right. There--stop it--I'll stay with you."

Until dawn Follett sat by the bunk, submitting his arm to the other's frenzied grip. From time to time he somewhat awkwardly uttered little words that were meant to be soothing, as he would have done to a frightened child.

When morning brought the gray light into the little room, the haunted man fell into a doze, and Follett, gently unclasping the hands from his arm, arose and went softly out. He was cramped from sitting still so long, and chilled, and his arm hurt where the other had gripped it. He pulled back the blue woollen sleeve and saw above his wrist livid marks where the nails had sunk into his flesh.

Then out of the room back of him came a sharp cry, as from one who had awakened from a dream of terror. He stepped to the door again and looked in.

"There now--don't be scared any more. The daylight has come; it's all right--all right--go to sleep now--"

He stood listening until the man he had come to kill was again quiet.

Then he went outside and over to the creek back of the willows to bathe in the fresh running water.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

_Ruel Follett's Way of Business_

By the time the women were stirring that morning, Follett galloped up on his horse. Prudence saw him from the doorway as he turned in from the main road, sitting his saddle with apparent carelessness, his arms loose from the shoulders, shifting lightly with the horse's motion, as one who had made the center of gravity his slave. It was a style of riding that would have made a scandal in any riding-school; but it seemed to be well calculated for the quick halts, sudden swerves, and acute angles affected by the yearling steer in his moments of excitement.

He dismounted, glowing from his bath in the icy water of the creek and from the headlong gallop up from Beil Wardle's corral.

"Good morning, Miss Prudence."

"Good morning, Mr. Follett. Will you take breakfast with us directly?"

"Yes, and it can't be too directly for me. I'm wolfish. Miss Prudence, your pa and me had some talk last night, and I'm going to bunk in with you all for awhile, till I get some business fixed up."

She smiled with unaffected gladness, and he noticed that her fresh morning colour was like that of the little wild roses he had lately brushed the dew from along the creek.

"We shall be glad to have you."

"It's right kind of you; I'm proud to hear you say so." He had taken off the saddle with its gay coloured Navajo blanket, and the bridle of plaited rawhide with its conchos and its silver bit. Now he rubbed the back of his horse where the saddle had been, ending with a slap that sent the beast off with head down and glad heels in the air.

"There now, Dandy! don't bury your ribs too deep under that new gra.s.s."

"My father will be glad to have you and Dandy stay a long time."

He looked at her quickly, and then away before he spoke. It was a look that she thought seemed to say more than the words that followed it.

"Well, the fact is, Miss Prudence, I don't just know how long I'll have to be in these parts. I got some particular kind of business that's lasting longer than I thought it would. I reckon it's one of those jobs where you have to let it work itself out while you sit still and watch.