“We brung along some grub,” he said. “It won’t be much of a weddin’ breakfast to brag on, but you wait ’til we git back to the Hog Ranch! We’ll have a reg’lar spread then an’ invite every son-of-a-gun in the territory. I’m goin’ to treat you right, kid, even ef you haven’t been any too damn nice to me.”
Wichita did not speak.
“Say, you can jest start right now cuttin’ out thet high-toned stuff with me,” said Cheetim. “I’ll be good to you ef you treat me right, but by God I ain’t a-goin’ to stand much more funny business. You kin start now by givin’ me a little kiss.”
“Cheetim,” said the girl, “listen to me. You’re half drunk now, but maybe you’ve got sense enough left to understand what I am going to say to you. I’d a heap rather kiss a Gila monster than you. You may be able to kiss me because you’re stronger than I am, and I guess even kissing a Gila monster wouldn’t kill me; but I’m warning you that if you ever do kiss me you’d better kill me quick, for I’m going to kill myself if anything happens to me——”
“Ef you want to be a damn fool that’s your own look out,” interrupted Cheetim, with a snarl, “but it won’t keep me from doin’ what I’m goin’ to do. Ef you’re fool enough to kill yourself afterward, you can.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” said Wichita. “I’ll kill myself, all right, but I’ll kill you first.”
The men were entering the room; and Cheetim stood, hesitating, knowing the girl meant what she said. He was a coward, and he had not had quite enough whiskey to bolster up his courage to the point of his desires.
“Oh, well,” he said, “we won’t quarrel this a-way on our honeymoon. You jest go in the other room there, dearie, an’ make yourself to home; an’ we’ll talk things over later. Git me a piece of rope, one o’ you fellers. I ain’t goin’ to take no chances of my bride vamoosin’.”
In the small back room of the shack they tied Wichita’s wrists and ankles securely and left her seated on an old bench, the only furniture that the room boasted.
Out in the front room the men were making preparations to cook some of the food they had brought with them, but most of their time was devoted to drinking and boasting. Cheetim drank with a purpose. He wanted to arrive, as quickly as possible, at a state of synthetic courage that would permit him to ignore the moral supremacy of the girl in the back room. He knew that he was physically more powerful, and so he could not understand why he feared her. Cheetim had never heard of such a thing as an inferiority complex, and so he did not know that that was what he suffered from in an aggravated form whenever he faced the level gaze and caustic tongue of Wichita Billings.