. She had
never given him any right, never made him any promise, never let him
believe she cared. And he had dared--! The hot blood boiled in her
cheeks. She was furious with him, but intolerably so with herself,
because somehow those kisses she had resented gave her unknown pain
and shame. They had sent a shock through all her being. She thought she
hated him.

"You--you--" she broke out. "Jim Cleve, that ends you with me!"

"Reckon I never had a beginning with you," he replied, bitterly. "It was
worth a good deal... I'm not sorry... By Heaven--I've--kissed you!"

He breathed heavily. She could see how pale he had grown in the shadowy
moonlight. She sensed a difference in him--a cool, reckless defiance.

"You'll be sorry," she said. "I'll have nothing to do with you any
more."

"All right. But I'm not, and I won't be sorry."

She wondered whether he had fallen under the influence of drink. Jim
had never cared for liquor, which virtue was about the only one he
possessed. Remembering his kisses, she knew he had not been drinking.
There was a strangeness about him, though, that she could not fathom.
Had he guessed his kisses would have that power? If he dared again--!
She trembled, and it was not only rage. But she would teach him a
lesson.

"Joan, I kissed you because I can't be a hangdog any longer," he said.
"I love you and I'm no good without you. You must care a little for me.
Let's marry... I'll--"

"Never!" she replied, like flint. "You're no good at all."

"But I am," he protested, with passion. "I used to do things. But
since--since I've met you I've lost my nerve. I'm crazy for you. You
let the other men run after you. Some of them aren't fit to--to--Oh, I'm
sick all the time! Now it's longing and then it's jealousy. Give me a
chance, Joan."

"Why?" she queried, coldly. "Why should I? You're shiftless. You won't
work. When you do find a little gold you squander it. You have nothing
but a gun. You can't do anything but shoot."

"Maybe that'll come in handy," he said, lightly.

"Jim Cleve, you haven't it in you even to be BAD," she went on,
stingingly.

At that he made a violent gesture. Then he loomed over her. "Joan
Handle, do you mean that?" he asked.

"I surely do," she responded. At last she had struck fire from him. The
fact was interesting. It lessened her anger.

"Then I'm so low, so worthless, so spineless that I can't even be bad?"

"Yes, you are."

"That's what you think of me--af