“Well, now you've got that load off your mind, come on over and get a cup of coffee. But while you're thinking about whether you want anything but my heart's blood, I'm going to speak right up and tell you a few things that commonly ain't none of my business.
“Do you know your wife came within an ace of burning to death yesterday?” Manley sat up with a jerk and glared at him. “Do you know you're burned out, slick and clean—all except the shack? Hay, stables, corral, wagons, chickens—” Kent spread his hands in a gesture including all minor details. “I rode over there when I saw the fire coming, and it's lucky I did, old-timer. I back-fired and saved the house—and your wife—from going up in smoke. But everything else went. Let that sink into your system, will you? And just see if you can draw a picture of what woulda happened if nobody had showed up—if that fire had hit the coulee with nobody there but your wife. Why, I run onto her half-way up the bluff, packing a wet sack, to fight it at the fire guards I Now, Man, it ain't any credit to, you that the worst didn't happen. I'd sure like to tell you what I think of a fellow that will leave a woman out there, twenty miles from town and ten from the nearest neighbor—and them not at home—to take a chance on a thing like that; but I can't. I never learned words enough.
“There's another thing. Old lady Hawley took more interest in her than you did; she drove out there to see how about it, as soon as the fire had burned on past and left the trail safe. And it didn't look good to her—that little woman stuck out there all by herself. She made her pack up some clothes, and brought her to town with her. She didn't want to come; she had an idea that she ought to stay with it till you showed up. But the only original Hawley is sure all right! She talked your wife plumb outa the house and into the rig, and brought her to town. She's over to the hotel now.”
“Val at the hotel? How long has she been there?” Manley began smoothing his hair and his crumpled clothes with his hands, “Good heavens! You told her I'd gone on out, and had missed her on the trail, didn't you, Kent? She doesn't know I'm in town, does she? You always were a good fellow—I haven't forgotten how you—”
“Well, you can forget it now. I didn't tell her anything like that. I didn't think of it, for one thing. She knew all the time that you were in town. I'm tired of lying to her. I told her the truth. I told her you were drunk.”
Manley's jaw dropped. “You—you told her—”
“Ex-actly. I told her you were drunk.” Kent nodded gravely, and his lips curled as he watched the other cringe. “She called me a liar,” he added, with a certain reminiscent amusement.
Manley brightened. “That's Val—once she believes in a person she's loyal as—”
“She ain't now,” Kent interposed dryly. “When I let up she was plumb convinced. She knows now what ailed you the day she came and you didn't meet her.”
“You dirty cur! And I thought you were a friend. You—”