An angel could not have pleaded more sweetly. To have argued with her would have been sacrilege, for I verily believed that she was pure of heart.
“There is nothing for me to say, madam,” I responded. “As far as I can do so with self-respect I will avoid Daniel. I certainly shall not intrude upon your party, or bother Mrs. Montoyo. But if Daniel brings trouble to me I will hand it back to him. That’s flat. He shall not flout me out of face. It rests with him whether we travel on peacefully or not. And I thank you for your interest.”
“I will pray for you,” she said simply. “Good-bye, sir.”
She withdrew, hastening again, sleek haired, round figured, modest in her shabby gown. I proceeded to the outfit with a new sense of disease. If she—if Mrs. Montoyo really had yielded, if she were out of the game—but she never had been in it; not to me. And still I conned the matter over and over, vainly convincing myself that the situation had cleared. 238 Notwithstanding all my effort, I somehow felt that an incentive had vanished, leaving a gap. The affair now had simmered down to plain temper and tit for tat. I championed nothing, except myself.
Why, with her submissive, in a fracas I might be working hurt to her, beyond the harm to him. But she be hanged, as to that phase of it. I had been led on so far that there was no solution save as Daniel turned aside. Heaven knows that the matter would have been sordid enough had it focused upon a gambler’s wife; and here it looked only prosaic. Thus viewing it I fought an odd disappointment in myself, coupled with a keener disappointment in her.
“You talked to Hyrum, I see,” Jenks commented.
“I did.”
“’Bout Dan’l, mebbe?”
“I wanted to make plain that the business is none of my seeking. Hyrum is wagon master.”
“Didn’t get any satisfaction, I’ll bet.”