“Then I’ll not move another foot, Charmian. That’s flat.”
“So is the desert,” said Charmian demurely, “and to spend the remainder of your life on it, Mary Temple, would be frightfully monotonous.”
“You know what I mean well enough,” snapped Mary. “I’ll find a way to get home without you.”
“Mary Temple, your miner’s bread is simply exquisite this morning,” Charmian told her placidly. “You haven’t forgotten our delightful days in Alaska, I see. Mary Temple, hereafter I intend to refer to you as my companion at arms. You’re so companionable that I couldn’t think of existing without you, and you’re always up in arms. Companion at arms is right. I’m glad I thought of that one. Naming things is my hobby, you know, Doctor.”
“Charmian,” quoth Mary in a sepulchral voice, “have you forgotten what Madame Destrehan saw in your Valley of Foolishness?”
“Let’s see. It was a madman bending over me, wasn’t it?—and stretching out his talonlike fingers toward my throat?”
“It was—and you know it. Well, haven’t you had warning enough?”
“You are well aware, Mary Temple, that I put no faith whatever in the second sight of Madame Destrehan or any other swindler,” Charmian reminded her.
“But in this case, isn’t her prophecy working out? Haven’t we had the madman right here in our camp? What better evidence of her powers can you ask for, Charmian?”
“In camp,” said the perverse young widow, “I always take two cups of coffee for breakfast, Doctor. One with the trimmings, and one black. May I trouble you to pour me another cup? And do you really think Shirttail Henry is a nut, Mary Temple?”