"What do you want?" she asked lifelessly.
"Who's been here?" he demanded, pointing an accusing finger at the table. "Two plates, two cups, two saucers—who you been entertaining?"
Entertaining! Good Lord! Hazel sat down on the wood-box and laughed hysterically.
He was around the table and confronting her in three strides. "Who's been here?" he kept at her.
"Dan Slike," she said with a spasmodic giggle.
"You're a liar," he told her promptly. "Dan Slike didn't come this way. He—he went another way. There's a posse on his trail now. You've had Bill Wingo here, that's whatsamatter."
"I haven't," she denied, wagging her head at him. "Dan Slike was here, I tell you."
"The hell he was. You must think I'm a fool. Bill Wingo's been here, I tell you. Think I don't know, huh, you deceivin' hussy! Trying to make small of me, carryin' on with other men, huh?"
She said nothing. It is doubtful if she heard him, for all his roaring voice and gesturing fists. Billy Wingo! Her Billy—once. He had loved her too—once. What a queer, queer world it was. Everybody and everything at cross-purposes. Yet there was a reason for it all. Must be. Even a reason for Rafe. She looked up at Rafe. He was glaring down at her with a most villainous expression on his lean features.
"How long has Bill Wingo been gone?" he demanded.