"Hol' on," said French Charlie in a conciliatory tone. "This true 'bout your losin'——"
"Yes, it's true; but I ain't askin' your sympathy!"
He stopped short and frowned.
"Course not, when you can get his." Under his slouch-hat he glowered at the Colonel.
Maudie broke into a volley of abuse. The very air smelt of brimstone. When finally, through sheer exhaustion, she dropped on the side of the bed, the devil prompted French Charlie to respond in kind. She jumped up and turned suddenly round upon Corey, speaking in a voice quite different, low and hoarse: "You asked me, Judge, if anybody knew where I kept my stuff. Charlie did."
The Canadian stopped in the middle of a lurid remark and stared stupidly. The buzz died away. The cabin was strangely still.
"Wasn't you along with the rest up to Idaho Bar?" inquired the Judge in a friendly voice.
"Y-yes."
"Not when we all were! No!" Maudie's tear-washed eyes were regaining a dangerous brightness. "I wanted him to come with me. He wouldn't, and we quarrelled."
"We didn't."