"No, I hain't," he muttered; "not to speak of. Whose horse is that out 'n the corral?"
The girl looked at him witheringly.
"I don't know as it's any of your pertic'lar business, but I don't mind tellin' you that horse b'longs to a gentleman!"
"A gentleman," sneered Parker.
"Yes, a gentleman; if you don't know what that is you'd better look in the dictionary. You won't find out by lookin' in the lookin'-glass, I can tell you that."
"Oh, come now, Idy, you hadn't ought to be so mad; I hadn't signed the pledge yet."
He took a step toward her. The girl put out her hands warningly, and then clasped her arms about herself with a shudder.
"Don't you come near me, Parker Lowe," she gasped. "What do I care about the pledge! Didn't you tell me you'd stop drinkin'? Won't a man that tells lies with his tongue tell 'em with his fingers? Do you suppose I'd marry a man that 'u'd come to me smellin' of whiskey, an' him lyin' sick in there? Can't you see that he's worth ten thousand such folks as you an' me? I don't want a man that can't see that! I'm done with you, Parker Lowe,"—her voice broke into a dry sob; "I want you to go away and stay away! It ain't the drinkin'—it's him—can't you understand?"
And Parker, as he climbed toward his lonesome cabin, understood.