"They have robbed me of my good name, and they have robbed us all of our good money!" I cut in rancorously.
At this, Benedict, who had been saying little, put in his word.
"I saw Whitredge an hour ago. He has been wiring Geddis and Withers—to tell them that the game is up. He says he supposes he will have to take his own medicine, but he asked me to intercede for the two old men. They have wired their Colorado attorneys to withdraw the Lawrenceburg suit and to lift the injunction, and they offer to turn in all their property if they are permitted to leave the country. That's as bad as a prison sentence for two men as old as they are. Will you let them do it, and call the account square, Weyburn?"
"No, by God!" If I set down the very words that I uttered, it is only in the interest of truth. At that moment I was like the soldiers who have seen their dead; I had seen the look in Polly's eyes, put there by that horrible week of waiting and suspense.
The room, as I have said, was the sitting-room of our suite—Polly's and mine—and I had neither seen nor heard the door of communication with the bed-room open. When I glanced up she was standing in the doorway, and I knew that she had heard. In the turning of a leaf she had flown across the room to drop on her knees beside me and bury her face in my lap.
"Oh, Jimmie—Jimmie, dear!" she sobbed; "you must forgive—forgive and forget! For my sake—for your own sake—you must!"
That settled it. Benedict flung his freshly lighted cigar into the grate and turned away, and Barrett got up and crossed to the window. I stood up and lifted my dear girl to her feet, and with her tear-stained face between my palms I turned my back upon the past and told her what we were going to do.
"It shall be as you say, Polly; we'll go back to the tall hills and forget it—and make other people forget it. And we'll let Mr. Benedict, here, do just what he pleases, no more and no less, with a pair of old plotters who haven't so very many years to wait before they will have to turn in their score to the Great Evener."
At this Barrett jerked out his watch and broke in brusquely; and as at other times, the brusquerie was only a mask for the things that a man doesn't wear on his sleeve.
"Cut it short, you two turtle-doves; you've got about forty-five minutes before the Westbound Limited is due, and you'd better be packing your grips. Come on downstairs, Benedict, and I'll buy you a drink to go with that red necktie of yours. Let's go."