"Excuse me, Miss Fortune," panted L. W. brokenly, "but I just had to fetch this unmannerly brute back. He can't come, like he did, to my place of business and speak like he did about you. You're the best friend, by Gregory, that Rimrock Jones ever had; and I'll say that for myself, Miss, too. You've been a good friend to me and I'll never forgit it, but Rim is jest naturally a fool!"
He stopped for breath and Rimrock set back sullenly without raising his eyes from the floor.
"Now!" said L. W. as he winced at the pull, "you can decide what you're going to do. Are you going to bust my arm, where I got it shot in two jest by fighting Ike Bray for your mine; or are you going to stan' up here and apologize like a gentleman for saying Miss Fortune sold you out."
"I'll apologize, doggone you," answered Rimrock between his teeth, "if you'll shut up and let go my coat."
"Well, all right, then," sighed L. W. as he cradled his injured arm, "I'll wait for you at the head of the stairs."
"You do and I'll kill you," returned Rimrock savagely. "Go on, now—and don't you come back."
He waved a threatening hand at the belligerent L. W. and watched him till he passed down the stairs. Then, turning to Mary, he set his mouth and looked her over grimly.
"Well, I apologize," he said. "Does that make you feel better? And now I hope I may go."
"No, you can't," she replied. "Now it's my turn to apologize. And I hope you have good luck."
She held out her hand and he glanced at it questioningly, then reached out and took it in his.