“Nina Micheltoreña! Nina Micheltoreña!” Turning to Ashby with an abrupt change of manner she said contritely: “I’m sorry, Mr. Ashby, I vouched for ’im.”
The Wells Fargo Agent softened at the note in the Girl’s voice; he was about to utter some comforting words to her when suddenly she spoke again.
“I s’pose they had one o’ them little lovers’ quarrels an’ that made ’er tell you, eh?” She laughed a forced little laugh, though her heart was beating strangely as she kept on: “He’s the kind o’ man who sort o’ polkas with every girl he meets.” And at this she began to laugh almost hysterically.
Rance, who resented her apologising to anyone but himself, stood scowling at her.
“What are you laughing at?” he questioned.
“Oh, nothin’, Jack, nothin’,” half-cried, half-laughed the Girl. “Only it’s kind o’ funny how things come out, ain’t it? Took in! Nina Micheltoreña! Nice company he keeps—one o’ them Cachuca girls with eyelashes at half-mast!”
Once more she broke out into a fit of laughter.
“Well, well,” she resumed, “an’ she sold ’im out for money! Ah, Jack Rance, you’re a better guesser’n I am!” And with these words she sank down at the table in an apathy of misery. Horror and hatred and hopelessness had possession of her. A fierce look was in her eyes when a moment later she raised her head and abruptly dismissed the boys, saying:
“Well, boys, it’s gittin’ late—good-night!”
Sonora was the first to make a movement towards the door.