“Well, jest to please myself.”
“To help that old trapper?”
“No; jes’ to please myself. I’m yer wife, ain’t I? Er I was, before I divorced ye. I think I’ll stay with you.”
“I’ll kill you if you do!” he fumed. “He can’t go! Go yerself, and I’ll be glad to have you git out.”
She dropped back, to where Pool Clayton was riding.
He slipped from his horse.
“Take it, and I’ll walk,” he said, with a guilty flush.
“I want you to leave these men instanter,” she urged.
“No; I ain’t goin’ to. Why don’t you go?”
“Me?” She leaned toward him. “Because I’ve swore by everything that’s good and bad that I’m goin’ to kill Pete Sanborn soon’s I git the chance. He ruined my life, and now he’s ruinin’ yourn.”