“I’d like her to think,” went on the prisoner, with difficulty choking back the tears, “that I got away clear and went East and changed my way of living. So you just drag me a good ways from here before you—” He stopped abruptly and began to swallow nervously. When he spoke again it was with a perceptible change of manner. “And when I don’t write and she never hears why she will say, ‘he’s forgotten me,’ and that will be about enough for her to remember, because she loved me before she knew what I was—and you can’t change love in a minute.”
All the while Johnson had been speaking the Sheriff’s jealousy had been growing steadily until, finally, turning upon the other with a succession of oaths he struck him a fierce blow in the face.
“I don’t blame you,” returned the prisoner without a trace of malice in his voice. “Strike me again—strike me—one death is not enough for me. Damn me—I wish you could.... Oh, why couldn’t I have let her pass! I’m sorry I came her way—but it’s too late now, it’s too late....”
Rance, not in the least affected by what the prisoner had been saying, asked if that was his last word.
Johnson nodded.
Trinidad, simultaneously with his nod, snapped his finger, indicating that the prisoner’s time was up.
“Dep!” called the Sheriff, sharply.
The Deputy came forward and took his prisoner in charge.
“Good-bye, sir!” said Nick, who was visibly affected.
“Good-bye!” returned the prisoner, briefly. “You tell the Girl—no, come to think of it, Nick, don’t say anything....”