She drew away from him. "Terry, God pity you. I pity you," she went on hurriedly and faintly. "But you ain't the same any more, Terry. I—I'm almost afraid of you!"
He tried laughingly to stop her, and in a sudden burst of hysterical terror she fled from him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him come after her, light as a shadow. And the shadow leaped between her and the door; the force of her rush drove her into his arms.
In the distance she could hear the others laughing—they understood such a game as this, and enjoyed it with all their hearts. Ah, the fools!
He held her lightly, his fingertips under her elbows. For all the delicacy of that touch, she knew that if she attempted to flee, the grip would be iron. He would hold her where she was until he was through talking to her.
"Don't you see what I've done?" he was saying rapidly. "You wanted to drive me out last night. You said I didn't fit—that I didn't belong up here. Well, Kate, I started out today to make myself fit to belong to this company of fine fellows."
He laughed a little; if it were not real mirth, at least there was a fierce quality of joy in his voice.
"You see, I decided that if I went away I'd be lonely. Particularly, I'd be lonely as the devil, Kate, for you!"
"You've murdered to make yourself one—of us?"
"Tush, Kate. You exaggerate entirely. Do you know what I've really done? Why, I've wakened; I've come to my senses. After all, there was no other place for me to go. I tried the world of good, ordinary working people. I asked them to let me come in and prove my right to be one of them. They discharged me when I worked honestly on the range. They sent their professional gunmen and bullies after me. And then—I reached the limit of my endurance, Kate, and I struck back. And the mockery of it all is this—that though they have struck me repeatedly and I have endured it, I—having struck back a single time—am barred from among them forever. Let it be so!"
"Hush, Terry. I—I'm going to think of ways!"