“Don’tcha? Well, both of ’em want to marry yuh. Which one do yuh choose? It don’t make a damn bit of difference to us. Pick yore man and we’ll see that the other keeps out. The priest is ready and the goose hangs high.”
“Neither,” said Wanna defiantly.
Baldy laughed at Gonzales and Torres.
“That’s another angle,” he chuckled. “It seems that the lady don’t care for either of yuh. Well, I don’t blame her a damn bit.”
“We do not ask you to decide,” reminded Torres. “This marriage has nothing to do with you, Kern.”
“Thasso?” Baldy laughed. “Keep yore shirt on, Torres. There’s goin’ to be a marriage, and yuh can bet on that.”
“There’s several of us here,” laughed Kohler. “Why marry her off to either one of them colorado maduros, when there’s good white men to be had for the askin’?”
“Wanna”—it was Jack Meline—“will you marry me?”
His answer came in a back-handed slap from his father, and he went back against the wall, bleeding at the mouth.
“Keep out of this, you fool!” roared Meline.