wonderingly rather than questioned.

Madeline rose and faced him.

"Yes, I am."

He slammed his gun back into its holster.

"Well, I reckon we won't go on with it, then."

"With what, sir? And why did you force me to say Si to this
priest?"

"I reckon that was a way I took to show him you'd be willing to
get married."

"Oh! . . . You--you! . . ." Words failed her.

This appeared to galvanize the cowboy into action. He grasped the
padre and led him toward the door, cursing and threatening, no
doubt enjoining secrecy. Then he pushed him across the threshold
and stood there breathing hard and wrestling with himself.

"Here--wait--wait a minute, Miss--Miss Hammond," he said,
huskily. "You could fall into worse company than mine--though I
reckon you sure think not. I'm pretty drunk, but I'm--all right
otherwise. Just wait--a minute."

She stood quivering and blazing with wrath, and watched this
savage fight his drunkenness. He acted like a man who had been