II
Adam Larey’s aching eyelids opened on the cold gray dawn of the morning after. Simultaneously, the dread realization of his loss overwhelmed him, devastated him, made him feel very bad. He had been through the fires of passion, through the flames of dishonor. He could never, never be the same pure man again as previously he had been before. She must atone. She must marry him, make an honest man of him.
He found her in converse with his brother Guerd Larey—tall, superbly built, handsome, bold, keen, reckless, gay Guerd Larey—whose face was perfect of feature, not a single one missing—Guerd Larey, a creature of G—dlike beauty, with a heart as false as h—l!!
“Margarita! Maggie! Mag!” he faltered. “Will you—won’t you—ain’t you going to—marry me? After what happened—last night—you won’t, will you?—I mean, you will, won’t you? You ain’t chucked me, are you? I’m on, ain’t I? You can’t can me, can you? Aw! You know what I mean!”
“Nachitoches, señor!” she answered lightly.
“Meaning?” he inquired.
“Nay—no—not—nix—never—not at all—nothing doing—and several other expressions of like import,” said she.
“Ha! ha!” commented Guerd Larey.
His mocking tones roused all the d—vil in the breast of Adam Larey.
“Take care, Guerd Larey!” he said omnivorously.
“Say not so, Adam! say not so!” taunted Guerd Larey, and at the same time seized a huge rock of several hundred-weight and hurled it at his brother. It struck Adam Larey full in the face and dazed him for a moment.
Then a rushing gush of rage overwhelmed him. He snatched his gun from its holster.
“You have snore your last sneer, Guerd Larey!” he cried, closed both eyes and pulled the trigger—or whatever you call that little thing that makes it shoot—turned and fled to the desert—the registered trade-mark of Cain upon him.