"You know me better than that. You quit me down there, and I won't say that I liked it. I wondered how you'd get along. You left no word. When I realized that you must have wanted to leave me, that settled it. Following you would have done no good, even if I had known where you had gone. I was free. And a gunman has no business with a family."
"You might have thought about that before you came courting me."
"I did. Didn't you?"
"You're hard, Jim. I was just a girl. Any woman would have been glad to marry you then. But when I got sense enough to see how you earned your money—I just had to leave. I was afraid to tell you—"
"There, now, Annie; we'll let that go. I won't say that I don't care, but I've been mighty busy since you left. I didn't know where you were until I hit Nogales. I wanted to see you and the boy. And I'm as hungry as a grizzly."
"Anita is getting supper. Some of the folks in town board here. They'll be coming in soon."
"All right. I'm a stranger. I rode over. I'd like to wash up."
"You rode over?"
"Yes. Why not? I know the country."
Mrs. Adams turned and gestured toward the stairway. She followed him and showed him to a room. So he hadn't come in on the Overland, but had ridden up from Sonora. Why had he undertaken such a long, weary ride? Surely he could have taken the train! She had never known him to be without money. But he had always been unaccountable, coming and going when he pleased, saying little, always serene. And now he had not said why he had ridden up from Sonora. "Why not?" was all that he had said in explanation.