“I have not forgotten it. I will never forget it. But I forgive you, for in comparison to your other crimes your sin against me was trivial—though it was great enough.”
Again his bitter laugh reached her ears. “I thought,” he began, and then stopped short. “Well, I reckon it doesn’t make much difference what I thought. I would have to tell you many things before you would understand, and even then I suppose you wouldn’t believe me. So I am keeping quiet until—until the time comes. Maybe that won’t be so long, and then you’ll understand. I’ll be seeing you again.”
“I am leaving this country to-morrow,” she informed him coldly.
She saw him start and experienced a sensation of vindictive satisfaction.
“Well,” he said, with a queer note of regret in his voice, “that’s too bad. But I reckon I’ll be seeing you again anyway, if the sheriff doesn’t get me.”
“Do you think they will come for you to-night?” she asked, suddenly remembering that her father had told her that Duncan had gone to Lazette for the sheriff. “What will they do?”
“Nothing, I reckon. That is, they won’t do anything except take me into custody. They can’t do anything until Doubler dies.”
“If he doesn’t die?” she said. “What can they do then?”
“Usually it isn’t considered a crime to shoot a man—if he doesn’t die. Likely they wouldn’t do anything to me if Doubler gets well. They might want me to leave the country. But I don’t reckon that I’m going to let them take me—whether Doubler dies or not. Once they’ve got a man it’s pretty easy to prove him guilty—in this country. Usually they hang a man and consider the evidence afterward. I’m not letting them do that to me. If I was guilty, I suppose I might look at it differently, but maybe not.”
Sheila was silent; he became silent, too, and looked gravely at her.