, right out, just after we were married, that I liked
you the best, and he don't forget it; and he don't let me. He swears
he'll shoot you on sight--as if that would do any good! He hates you,
Ira." She laughed again unpleasantly.

Weary, sitting uneasily in the saddle looking at her, wondered if Irish
really cared; or if, in Weary's place, he would have sat there so
calmly and just looked at her. She was rather pretty, in a pink and
white, weak way. He could easily imagine her marrying Spikes Weber for
mere spite; what he could not imagine, was Irish in love with her.

It seemed almost as if she caught a glimmer of his thoughts, for she
reined closer, and her teeth were digging into her lower lip. "Well,
aren't you going to _do_ anything?" she demanded desperately. "You're
here, and I've told you I--care. Are you going to leave me to bear
Spikes' abuse always?"

"You married him," Weary remarked mildly and a bit defensively. It
seemed to him that loyalty to Irish impelled him.

She tossed her head contemptuously. "It's nice to throw that at me. I
might get back at you and say you loved me. You did, you know."

"And you married Spikes; what can _I_ do about it?"

"What--can--you--do--about it? Did you come back to ask me that?"
There was a well defined, white line around her mouth, and her eyes
were growing ominously bright.

Weary did not like the look of her, nor her tone. He felt, somehow,
glad that it was not Irish, but himself; Irish might have felt the
thrall of old times--whatever they were--and have been tempted. His
eyes, also, grew ominous, but his voice was very smooth. (Irish, too,
had that trait of being quietest when he was most roused.)

"I came back on business; I will confess I didn't come to see you," he
said. "I'm only a bone-headed cowpuncher, but even cowpunchers can
play square. They don't, as a rule step in between a man and his wife.
You married Spikes, and according to your own tell, you did it to spite
me. So I say again, what can _I_ do about it?"

She looked at him dazedly.

"Uh course," he went on gently, "I won't stand to see any man abuse his
wife, or bandy her name or mine around the country. If I should happen
to meet up with Spikes, there'll likely be some dust raised. And if I
was you, and Spikes abused me, I'd quit him cold."

"Oh, I see," she said sharply, with an exaggeration of scorn. "You
have got over it, then. There's someone else. I might hav