ybody about what
happened--I haven't even hinted it to anybody. And I told the parson to
get out of the country, so he wouldn't do any gassing about it. And I
haven't been over to Dry Bottom to have the marriage recorded--and I am
not going to go. So that you can have it set aside at any time."

Yes, she could have the marriage annulled, she knew that. But the
contemplation of her release from the tie that bound her to him did not
lessen the gravity of the offense in her eyes. She told herself that she
hated him with a remorseless passion which would never cease until he
ceased to live. No action of his could repair the damage he had done to
her. She told him so, plainly.

"I didn't know you were so blood-thirsty as that," he laughed in quiet
mockery. "Maybe it would be a good thing for you if I did die--or get
killed. But I'm not allowing that I'm ready to die yet, and certainly am
not going to let anybody kill me if I can prevent it. I reckon you're not
thinking of doing the killing yourself?"

"If I told my father--" she began, but hesitated when she saw his lips
suddenly straighten and harden and his eyes light with a deep contempt.

"So you haven't told your father?" he laughed. "I was sure you had taken
him into your confidence by this time. But I reckon it's a mighty good
thing that you didn't--for your father. Like as not if you'd tell him he'd
get some riled and come right over to see me, yearning for my blood. And
then I'd have to shoot him up some. And that would sure be too bad--you
loving him as you do."

"I suppose you would shoot him like you shot that poor fellow in Lazette,"
she taunted, bitterly.

"Like I did that poor fellow in Lazette," he said, with broad, ironic
emphasis. "You saw me shoot Blanca, of course, for you were there. But you
don't know what made me shoot him, and I am not going to tell you--it's
none of your business."

"Indeed!" Her voice was burdened with contempt. "I suppose you take a
certain pride in your ability to murder people." She placed a venomous
accent on the "Murder."

"Lots of people ought to be murdered," he drawled, using the accent she
had used.

Her contempt of him grew. "Then I presume you have others in mind--whom
you will shoot when the mood strikes you?" she said.

"Perhaps." His smile was mysterious and mocking, and she saw in his eyes
the reckless gleam which she had noted that night while in the cabin with
him. She shuddered and walked to the pony--h