“If that is forced upon me, nothing. It will be in defense of my rights, won’t it? But I don’t want any further trouble with him. I hope to God I won’t have.”
“Shore,” Jenks soothed. “You’re not a killer. All the same, you’re elected; he began it and you’ll have to finish it. Then you’ll needs look out for yourself and her too, for he’s made her the stakes.”
“Why will I?”
“Got to. The hull train thinks so, one way or t’other, and you’re white.”
“She can stay with the Mormons, if she wants to.”
“Oh, yes; if she wants to. But do you reckon she 232 does? Not much! She’s lookin’ to you—she’s lookin’ to you. She’s a smart leetle piece—knows how to play her cards, and she’s got you and Dan’l goin’.”
“But she’s married. You can’t expect——”
“Oh, yes,” he wagged again, interrupting. “Shore. There’s Montoyo. I don’t envy you your job, but damn’ if you mightn’t work harder and do wuss. She’s a clipper, and I never did hear anything ’specially bad of her, beyond cappin’. Whoa, Jinny!”
I wrathfully cogitated. Now I began to hate her. I was a tool to her hand, once more, was I? And how had it come about? She had not directly besought me to it—not by word. Daniel had decreed, and already our antagonism had been on. And I had defied him—naturally. He should not bilk me of free movement. But the issue might, on the face of it, appear to be she. As I tugged at the harness, under breath I cursed the scurvy turn of events; and in seeking to place the blame found amazing cleverness in her. Just the same, I was not going to kill him for her account; never, never! And I wished to the deuce that she’d kept clear of me.
Jenks was speaking.