Moreau and the emigrant were left facing each other, with the first wife in the doorway.
“Your wife’s not able to go on,” said the miner—his manner becoming suddenly authoritative; “no more than your horse is.”
“Maybe not,” said the other, “but they’re both goin’ to try.”
“But can’t you see the horse can’t carry her? She certainly can’t walk into Hangtown, or even to Porter’s Ranch.”
“No, I can’t see. And how’s it come to be your business—what they can do or what they can’t?”
“YOUR WIFE’S NOT ABLE TO GO ON, NO MORE THAN YOUR
HORSE IS”
“It’s any one’s business to prevent a woman from being half killed.”
“Since you seem to think so much about her, why don’t you keep her here yourself?”
The man spoke with a savage sneer, his eyes full of steely defiance.