She shook her head negatively, wondering at his cold composure. No wonder her father had selected him!
He laughed mirthlessly. “So that’s the reason Doubler was so friendly to his rifle this morning?” he said, as though her words had explained a mystery which had been puzzling him. “Doubler and me have been friends for a long time. But this morning while I was talking to him he kept his rifle beside him all the time. He must have heard from someone that I was gunning for him.”
“Then you haven’t been hired to kill him?”
He smiled at her eagerness, but spoke gravely and with an earnestness which she could not help but feel. “Miss Sheila,” he said, “there isn’t money enough in ten counties like this to make me kill Doubler.” His lips curled with a quiet sarcasm. “You are like a lot of other people in this country,” he added. “Because I put Blanca away they think I am a professional gunman. But I want you”—he placed a significant emphasis on the word—“to understand that there wasn’t any other way to deal with Blanca. By coming back here after selling me that stolen Star stock and refusing to admit the deed in the presence of other people—even denying it and accusing me—he forced me to take the step I did with him. Even then, I gave him his chance. That he didn’t take it isn’t my fault.
“I suppose I look pretty black to you, because I treated you like I did. But it was partly your fault, too. Maybe that’s mysterious to you, but it will have to stay a mystery. I had an idea in my head that night—and something else. I’ve found something out since that makes me feel a lot sorry. If I had known what I know now, that wouldn’t have happened to you—I’ve got my eyes open now.”
Their ponies were very close together, and leaning over suddenly he placed both hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes, his own flashing with a strange light. She did not try to escape his hands, for she felt that his sincerity warranted the action.
“I’ve treated you mean, Sheila,” he said; “about as mean as a man could treat a woman. I am sorry. I want you to believe that. And maybe some day—when this business is over—you’ll understand and forgive me.”
“This business?” Sheila drew back and looked at him wonderingly. “What do you mean?”
There was no mirth in his laugh as he dropped his hands to his sides. Her question had brought about a return of that mocking reserve which she could not penetrate. Apparently he would let her no farther into the mystery whose existence his words had betrayed. He had allowed her to get a glimpse of his inner self; had shown her that he was not the despicable creature she had thought him; had apparently been about to take her into his confidence. And she had felt a growing sympathy for him and had been prepared to meet him half way in an effort to settle their differences, but she saw that the opportunity was gone—was hidden under the cloak of mystery which had been about him from the beginning of their acquaintance.
“This Doubler business,” he answered, and she nibbled impatiently at her lips, knowing that he had meant something else.