“It’s good the Wolf shot him,” he snarled.
“Is it? The Wolf’ll know about it later.”
Pideau made no reply. He continued to stare at the red-hot patch. His eyes were hidden and his face told nothing of that which was going on within his bullet head.
Again Annette was gazing through and beyond him. Suddenly the man looked up. A sound broke from him.
“An’ you sent him to the rope?”
His words came harshly, but without feeling. They were simply provocative.
Annette was fighting the woman in her with all the ugliness of her mixed breed. She had sent the Wolf, her childhood’s playmate, the man who had killed the father of her unborn child, to the rope. But the fog of the battle cleared swiftly, and victory remained with the side that had been bound to win from the first.
“An’ I’m glad!”
Pideau noted the vicious snap of the reply.
“Maybe it’ll hand me penitentiary, too,” he protested, without real apprehension.