play,--and I guess it comes pretty
easy!" He turned away from her, his face to the wall. "I'd like to be
alone, now, Skipper. You'd better look after Cart'. Watch him on the
water. He'll kill himself if he takes too much."

"Jimsy, I'm not going to leave you."

He lifted himself on his elbow. "Skipper, dear," he said gently, "what's
the use? I suppose I took a crazy kid way to show you I wasn't worth
your sticking to, and I guess I'm not, if it comes to that, but the fact
remains, and we can't get away from it."

"What fact, Jimsy?"

"That you--care--for Carter."

"Jimsy, have you lost your senses? I--care for _Carter_?"

"He told me."

"Then," said Honor, her eyes darkening, "he told you a lie."

He dropped back on the pillow. He had lost a lot of blood before Yaqui
Juan found him and tied up his cut, and he looked white and spent. "Oh,
Skipper, please.... Let's not drag it out. I saw your message to him."

"What message?"

"The one you sent to the steamer, after he'd lost his head and told you
he loved you,--and--and asked you if you loved him." Difficult words;
grotesque and meaningless, but he must manage with them. "I'm not
blaming you, Skipper. I know I'm slow in the head beside Cart' and he
can give you a lot that I can't. And nothing--hanging over him. You'd
have played the game through to the last gun; I know that. But it
wouldn't have been right for any of us. I'm glad Cart' blew up and told
me."

Honor laid his hand gently back on the bedspread of exquisite Mexican
drawnwork and stood up. "Carter showed you the telegram I sent him from
Genoa?"

"Yes. He carries it always in his wallet."

"He told you it meant that I loved him?"

"Skipper, don't feel like that about it. It had to come out, some time."
His voice sounded weary and weak.

She bent over him, speaking gently. "Be quiet, Jimsy; lie still. I'm
going to bring Carter up here."

"Oh, Skipper, what's the use? You--you make me wish that greaser had
finished me, down at the well. Please----"

"Wait!"

He heard her feet in the hall, flying down the stairs, and he turned his
face to the wall again, his young mouth quivering.

She found Carter lying on the wide couch, one arm trailing limply over
the side of it, the emptied canteen dangling from his hand, and he was
breathing with difficulty. His face was darkly mottled and congested but
Honor did not notice it. "Carter," she said, "I want you to come with me
and tell Jimsy how you