"And the maid and the nurse—are they down there, too?"
"Oh, no. They're canned. And that reminds me. Those are peach preserves in that jar."
Bill lifted his head a trifle, so that he could send her a sidelong glance. What, in heaven's name, had brought her here, in the dead of winter? Wanting him to go back with her, probably. Wanted to dodge the gossiping. But he would not ask her. She was here; let her tell her object in coming.
"I don't suppose you've heard any news lately," Doris remarked, when Bill had declined every dish of food on the table, and was merely pretending to drink his coffee. "I heard it just as I was leaving the ranch. Walter and John and another man, and that Al Freeman—the one I shot out of here that time, you know—all had a terrible fight in this other man's office, in Goldfield. About money, they said. Walter and the other man were shot, and the other two are in jail. They think Walter won't live. I was thinking, Bill, maybe you ought to go and see him. He—they cheated you somehow, didn't they? Walter might tell, if you went to him and asked about it. I think he'd tell, to get even with John."
"What's the use?" Bill pushed back his chair. "What's the use of anything? Doris, did you make the ride over here to tell me that?"
Doris also was making a pretense of eating. She pushed back her plate and began rolling a bit of bread under her forefinger, patting it carefully into a flat little cake. Bill noticed then that she was wearing no rings, save her wedding ring and one with a Parowan nugget,—the first one he found in the claim.
"Why, no. I just happened to think of that. No. What I really came for—well I really came for, was—well, I thought there was no sense in spending money living at a hotel when I have a wonderful home here, and—when the mine needs the money. I don't know whether you need any of mine, but I wish you'd take it and use it, Bill. I—it's a darned shame for you to be working like—like a Bohunk!"
Bill was studying her fixedly.
"I was working like a Bohunk when I found the mine in the first place," he said. "I guess there's nothing the matter with my back. It can stand up under a little more work. I haven't," he said deliberately, "found the ore yet. I may never find it. So you may need your money."
"Our money," corrected Doris, under her breath. "Well, I suppose I can't get around it—you're the stubbornest mule of a man I ever saw in my life! I really came to say I've been a beast. I don't see why," she cried indignantly, "a man can get rich and make a darned fool of himself, and it's all right. But if a woman goes on a perfectly respectable society spree, it—it's something awful!" Her voice broke. "If it had been you—if you'd got drunk and gambled and—raised Cain generally, don't—don't you suppose I'd have overlooked it when you—so-sobered up and—wanted to get a fresh start?"