“Prospect is wher’ you expect to find gold,” he explained carefully.
The child’s eyes widened, and she was about to speak. Then she hesitated, but finally she proceeded.
“That ain’t wot we’re goin’ for,” she said simply. “Poppa’s goin’ to take me wher’ momma is. I’m goin’ to momma, an’ she’s ever so far away. Pop told me. Jamie’s goin’ to stay with him, an’ I’m goin’ to stay with momma, an’––an’––I want Jamie to come too.” Tears suddenly crowded her eyes, and slowly rolled down her sunburned cheeks.
Just for a moment neither man spoke. Bill’s fierce eyes were curiously alight, and they were sternly fixed on the averted face of the father. At last Scipio turned towards him; and with his first words he showed his relief that further lying was out of the question.
“I forgot––somehow––she knew. Y’see––”
But Bill, who had just bitten off a fresh chew of tobacco, gave him no chance to continue.
“Say,” he interrupted him, “ther’s lies I hate, an’ ther’s lies that don’t make no odds. You’ve lied in a way I hate. You’ve lied ’cos you had to lie, knowin’ you was doin’ wrong. If you hadn’t know’d you was doin’ wrong you wouldn’t have needed to lie––sure. Say, you’re not only handin’ over that kiddie to her mother, you’re handin’ her over to that feller. Now, get to it an’ tell me things. An’––you needn’t to lie any.”
Scipio hung his head. These words coming from Wild Bill suddenly put an entirely different aspect upon his action. He saw something of the horror he was committing as Bill saw it. He was seeing through another man’s eyes now, where before he had only seen through his own simple heart, torn by the emotions his Jessie’s letter had inspired.
He fumbled in his pocket and drew out his wife’s letter. He looked at it, holding it a moment, his whole heart in his eyes. Then he reached out and passed it to the gambler.
“She’s got to have her,” he said, with a touch of his native obstinacy and conviction. “She’s her mother. I haven’t a right to keep her. I––”