A sickly smile overspread her delicate countenance.
"You left me to starve, and the child, too," she interrupted.
"Let that be as it may," he rejoined, "I went away. You can put what construction you like on my actions."
"Well, go on," she said, in a tone of resignation.
"I'll admit," he continued, "that I was a drunkard and a gambler; but I wasn't that when I left you. I intended to do you good. A barroom quarrel nearly resulted in my death. I was badly shot, badly kicked and lost one of my eyes."
Mrs. Smithers covered her face with her hands, as if she could conjure up the horrible scene and wished to shut it out.
"How have you been living since?" she asked.
"Heaven only knows. A friendly Indian took care of me till I got well, and then I waited till I could get square with my enemy."
"And he?"
"I slew him as I would a dog," said the man, Thompson. "He begged for his life like a whining girl, but I had him in a tight place, and he died by my hand."