“Ellen, I swear I’m not lyin’,” he returned, in eager passion. “I was with your dad last an’ heard him last. He shore knew I’d loved y’u for years. An’ he said he’d rather y’u be left in my care than anybody’s.”
“My father gave me to y’u in marriage!” ejaculated Ellen, in bewilderment.
Colter’s ready assurance did not carry him over this point. It was evident that her words somewhat surprised and disconcerted him for the moment.
“To let me marry a rustler—one of the Hash Knife Gang!” exclaimed Ellen, with weary incredulity.
“Wal, your dad belonged to Daggs’s gang, same as I do,” replied Colter, recovering his cool ardor.
“No!” cried Ellen.
“Yes, he shore did, for years,” declared Colter, positively. “Back in Texas. An’ it was your dad that got Daggs to come to Arizona.”
Ellen tried to fling herself away. But her strength and her spirit were ebbing, and Colter increased the pressure of his arm. All at once she sank limp. Could she escape her fate? Nothing seemed left to fight with or for.
“All right—don’t hold me—so tight,” she panted. “Now tell me how dad was killed ... an’ who—who—”
Colter bent over so he could peer into her face. In the darkness Ellen just caught the gleam of his eyes. She felt the virile force of the man in the strain of his body as he pressed her close. It all seemed unreal—a hideous dream—the gloom, the moan of the wind, the weird solitude, and this rustler with hand and will like cold steel.