He uttered a loud laugh, mirthless, a mere explosion of surcharged breath. “No!... I can’t get angry. I can’t be a man any more. This Death Valley and the sun—and you—have worked on my mind.... But I’ll tell you what—nothing can stop me from beating Virey—so he’ll never do that again.”
“Ah!... So I’ve worked on your mind? Then it’s the only great deed I ever did.... Wansfell, I told you Virey has threatened to shoot you. He’s meant to more than once, but when you have come he has been afraid. But he might.”
“I wish to heaven he’d try it,” responded Adam, and, loosing the woman’s hold upon his hands, he strode toward the shack.
“Virey, come out!” he called, loudly, though without any particular feeling. There was no reply, and he repeated the call, this time louder. Still Virey remained silent. Waiting a moment longer, Adam finally spoke again, with deliberate, cold voice. “Virey, I don’t want to mess up that room, with all your wife’s belongings in there. So come outside.”
At that Adam heard a quick, panting breath. Then Virey appeared—came to the door of the shack. Adam could not have told what the man’s distorted face resembled. He carried a gun, and his heart was ferocious if his will was weak.
“Don’t you—lay one of your—bloody hands on me,” he panted.
Adam took two long strides and halted before Virey, not six feet distant.
“So you’ve got your little gun, eh?” he queried, without any particular force. Adam had been compelled to smother all that mighty passion within him, or he could not have answered for his actions. “What are you going to do with it?”
“If you make a—move at me—I’ll kill you,” came the husky, panting response.
“Virey, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your worthless life,” declared Adam, monotonously, as if he had learned this speech by rote. “But I’ve got to talk first. I’m full of a million things to call you.”