the centre of the room with the firelight gloomily
about him; behind, blocking the door with his squat figure, stood Shorty
Kilrain.

"Where's your side-kicker?" asked Nash. "Where's Bard?"

And looking across the room, she saw that the other bunk was empty. She
raised her arms quickly, as if to stifle a yawn, and sat up in the bunk,
holding the blanket close about her shoulders. The face she showed to
Nash was calmly contemptuous.

"The bird seems to be flown, eh?" she queried.

"Where is he?" he repeated, and made a step nearer.

She knew at last that her power over him as a woman was gone; she caught
the danger of his tone, saw it in the steadiness of the eyes he fixed
upon her. Behind was a great, vague feeling of loss, the old hollowness
about the heart. It made her reckless of consequences; and when Nash
asked, "Is he hangin' around behind the corner, maybe?" she cried:

"If he was that close you'd have sense enough to run, Steve."

The snarl of Nash showed his teeth.

"Out with it. The tenderfoot ain't left his woman fur away. Where's he
gone? Who's he gone to shoot in the back? Where's the hoss he started
out to rustle?"

"Kind of peeved, Nash, eh?"

One step more he made, towering above her.

"I've done bein' polite, Sally. I've asked you a question."

"And I've answered you: I don't know."

"Sally, I'm patient; I don't mean no wrong to you. What you've been to
me I'm goin' to bust myself tryin' to forget; but don't lie to me now."

Such a far greater woe kept up a throbbing ache in the hollow of her
throat that now she laughed, laughed slowly, deliberately. He leaned,
caught her wrist in a crushing pressure.

"You demon; you she-devil!"

She whirled out of the bunk, the blanket caught about her like the toga
of some ancient Roman girl; and as she moved she had swept up something
heavy and bright from the floor.

All this, and still his grip was on her left arm.

"Drop your hand, Nash."

With a falling of the heart, she knew that he did not fear her gun;
instead, a light of pleasure gleamed in his eyes and his lower jaw
thrust out.

She would never forget his face as he looked that moment.

"Will you tell me?"

"I'll see you in hell first."

By that wrist he drew her resistlessly toward him, and his other arm
went about her and crushed her close; hate, shame, rage, love were in
the contorted face above her. She pressed the muzzle of her revolver
against his side.

"You're in bec