Jim shook his head. He was particularly interested in his work just then. There was a great saddle of clay, and he scooped it up magically.
"Yes, she's in town—living respectable."
Jim redirected his giant with a savage swish.
"Say, I'm a sort of a philant'ropic guy," went on Mosher, "an' there's nothing I like better than doing the erring wife restitootion act. I think I could induce that little woman of yours to come back to you."
Jim gave him a swift glance, but the man went on.
"To tell the truth, she's a bit stuck on me. Not my fault, of course. Can't help it if a girl gets daffy on me. But say, I think I could get her switched on to you if you made it worth my while. It's a business proposition."
He was sneering now, frankly villainous. Jim gave no sign.
"What d'ye say? This is a likely bit of ground—give me a half-share in this ground, an' I'll guarantee to deliver that little piece of goods to you. There's an offer."
Again that smug look of generosity beamed on the man's face. Once more Jim motioned him to go, but Mosher did not heed. He thought the gesture was a refusal. His face grew threatening. "All right, if you won't," he snarled, "look out! I know you love her still. Let me tell you, I own that woman, body and soul, and I'll make life hell for her. I'll torture you through her. Yes, I've got a cinch. You'd better change your mind."
He had stepped back as if to go. Then, whether it was an accident or not no one will ever know—but the little giant swung round till it bore on him.