His intention was plain enough. He meant there should be no misunderstanding it. And the little man, Peters, took his dismissal without demur.
The moment Peters had safely negotiated the saddle and vanished in a cloud of dust, Dug pressed the whisky bottle upon his guest. Jeff almost mechanically accepted it. He gulped down a stiff drink of neat spirit. Dug watched him.
"Guess you're feelin' pretty darn saddle weary," he said kindly.
Jeff flung himself into his chair without replying.
Dug returned to his seat and gazed out at the yellow and purple afterglow of sunset.
"Say, maybe you'd feel like handin' me the reason you wouldn't set the law on to that—woman?" he went on presently.
The question was by no means idle. It was inspired by the man's genuinely kindly nature. Somehow, he felt that he had been responsible for that which he had seen, still saw, in this man's eyes.
But he was wholly unprepared for the reply forthcoming. It came promptly. Each word came distinctly, deliberately, in a voice of bitter coldness. The tragedy of it left the rancher speechless.
"Because I married Elvine van Blooren just over six weeks ago."