"Somehow I'll manage. I'll find a story of how I was carried away by half a dozen men who had come to loot the upper rooms of the house, while the wedding party was downstairs. I'll find a story that will wash."
"Yes, I think you will," said Cartwright, breathing heavily. "I sure think you will. You was always a clever little devil, I know! But a bargain! I'd ought to—" He checked himself. "But I'm through with the black talk. When I get you back on the ranch I'll show you that you can be happy up there. And when you get over your fool notions, you'll be a wife to be proud of. Now, honey, tell me what you want?"
"I want you to save the lives of two men. They're both in jail—on my account. And they're both charged with murder. You know whom I mean."
Cartwright rose out of his chair.
"Sinclair!" he groaned. "Curse him! Sinclair, ag'in, eh? What's they between you two?"
Her answer smothered his fury again. It was pain that was giving her strength.
"Jude, if you really want me to go back with you, don't ask that question. He has treated me as an honorable man always treats a woman—he tried to serve me."
"Serve you? By coming here trying to kill me?"
"He may have thought I wished to be free. He didn't tell me what he was going to do."
"That's a lie." He stopped, watching her white face. "I don't mean that, you know. But you ain't actually asking me to get Sinclair out of jail? Besides, I couldn't do it!"