"I reckon that squares us," the bad man said unsentimentally. "Now, all of
you back to bed."
MacQueen and his bride passed out into the night. The girls noticed that
she did not take his arm; that she even drew back, as if to avoid touching
him as they crossed the threshold.
Not until they reached the gate of her father's house did MacQueen speak.
"I'm not all coyote, girl. I'll give you the three days I promised you.
After that you'll join me wherever I say."
"Yes," she answered without spirit.
"You'll stand pat to our agreement. When they try to talk you out of it
you won't give in?"
"No."
She was deadly weary, could scarce hold up her head.
"If you lie to me I'll take it out on your folks. Don't forget that Jack
Flatray will have to pay if you double-cross me."
"No."
"He'll have to pay in full."
"You mean you'll capture him again."
"I mean we won't have to do that. We haven't turned him loose yet."
"Then you lied to me?" She stared at him with wide open eyes of horror.
"I had to keep him to make sure of you."
Her groan touched his vanity, or was it perhaps his pity?
"I'm not going to hurt him--if you play fair. I tell you I'm no cur. Help
me, girl, and I'll quit this hell raising and live decent."
She laughed without joy, bitterly.
"Oh, I know what you think," he continued. "I can't blame you. But what do
you know about my life? What do you know about what I've had to fight
against? All my life there has been some devil in me, strangling all the
good. There has been nobody to give me a helping hand--none to hold me
back. I was a dog with a bad name--good enough for hanging, and nothing
else."
He was holding the gate, and perforce she had to hear him out.
"What do I care about that?" she cried, in a fierce gust of passion. "I
see you are cur and coward! You lied to me. You didn't keep faith and free
Jack Flatray. That is enough."
She was the one person in the world who had power to wound him. Nor did it
hurt the less that it was the truth. He drew back as if the lash of a whip
had swept across his face.