"Then how do you expect me to believe you ate supper with him? You're
foolish. You had Bill Wingo here, and we'll settle this Wingo business
right now. You see, don't you, how you can never marry the feller?
This Tip O'Gorman murder has queered him round here for keeps. Sooner
or later he'll hang for it. You'd look fine wouldn't you, the widow of
a----"
"Don't say it," she cut him short. "Billy Wingo is no murderer. He
fights fair, which is more than I can say for you. However, you can
set your mind at rest. I'm not likely to marry Billy Wingo, or anybody
else."
"Then what do you care whether I call him a murderer or not, if you
don't love him?" he probed. "I thought a while back you had taken my
advice and busted it off with Bill, but now after hearin' what you
tried to do to Nate Samson, and all that ammunition and grub you bought
to-day, the day after Tip was killed, why I began to think maybe you
was startin' in to play the Jack again. I told you last fall I was
gonna have you myself. You ain't forgot it, have you?"
His eyes, savage and mean, held hers steadily. "I come over here,
to-night to get you. I'm taking you back with me to-night to my ranch.
To-morrow you can marry me or not. It'll be just as you say."
"You're taking me to your ranch!" she gasped. "_Me?_"