There were dark half circles under her eyes, pinch lines about her mouth, all her face was wildly strained. She simulated distress very well indeed.
“Here it is, and your money. Take them.” And I thrust my unclosed fist at her.
“No! And you were going? You didn’t intend to reply?”
“Certainly not. I am done with you, and with Benton, madam. Good-morning. I have business.”
She caught at my sleeve.
“You are angry. I don’t blame you, but you have time to talk with me and you shall talk.” She spoke almost fiercely. “I demand it, sir. If not at the café, then here and now. Will you stand aside, please, where the whole town shan’t see us; or do you wish me to follow you on? I’m risking already, but I’ll risk more.”
I sullenly stepped aside, around the corner of a sheet-iron groggery (plentifully punctured, I noted, with bullet holes) not yet open for business and faced by the blank wall of a warehouse.
“I’ve been waiting since daylight,” she panted, “and watching the hotel. I knew you were still there; I found out. I was afraid you wouldn’t answer 149 my note, so I slipped around and cut in on you. Where are you going, sir?”
“That, madam, is my private affair,” I replied. “And all your efforts to influence me in the slightest won’t amount to a row of pins. And as I am in a hurry, I again bid you good-morning. I advise you to get back to your husband and your beauty sleep, in order to be fresh for your Big Tent to-night.”
“My husband? You know? Oh, of course you know.” She gazed affrightedly upon me. “To Montoyo, you say? Him? No, no! I can’t! Oh, I can’t, I can’t.” She wrung her hands, she held me fast. “And I know where you’re going. To that wagon train. Mr. Jenks has engaged you. You will bull-whack to Salt Lake? You? Don’t! Please don’t. There’s no need of it.”