"You know it was."

"But why haven't I as good a right to make love to Jenny as you or any
other man?"

Woodell turned fiercely: "More quibbling." Then in a tone of demand:
"Tell me this: Are you going to marry her?"

Harlson hesitated. "I don't know."

"You do know! You know you haven't any idea of such a thing. You are
just amusing yourself until you get your cursed fence built."

"What is that to you?"

"To me! She was engaged to be married to me, and we were happy
together until you came; and you've come, broken up two lives and done
no one any good, not even yourself, you hungry wolf! She cares more
for me to-day than she does for you. She is better suited to me! But
with your trick of words and your ways you tickled her fancy at first,
and, finally, you charmed her somehow as they say snakes do birds. And
she'll not be fit for anybody when you go away!" The big man sobbed
like a baby.

Harlson made no immediate reply. Was not what Woodell was saying but
the truth? Did he really care for Jenny or she for him? What had it
been but pastime? He could give her up. It would be a little hard, of
course. It is always so when a man has to surrender those close
relations with a woman which are so fascinating, and which come only