"Christ! if I don't believe she knew nothin' of it!"

For a moment the full force of such a supposition, with all its
poignancy, its dramatic intensity, and its pathos, possessed the crowd.
In the momentary clairvoyance of enthusiasm they caught a glimpse of the
truth, and by one of the strange reactions of human passion they only
waited for a word of appeal or explanation from her lips to throw
themselves at her feet. Had she simply told her story they would have
believed her; had she cried, fainted, or gone into hysterics, they would
have pitied her. She did neither. Perhaps she thought of neither, or
indeed of anything that was then before her eyes. She walked erect to
the door and turned upon the threshold. "I mean what I say," she said
calmly. "I don't understand you. But whatever just claims you have upon
my husband will be paid by me, or by his lawyer, Captain Poindexter."

She had lost the sympathy but not the respect of her hearers. They made
way for her with sullen deference as she passed out on the platform. But
her adversary, profiting by the last opportunity, burst into an ironical
laugh.

"Captain Poindexter, is it? Well, perhaps he's safe to pay YOUR bill,
but as for your husband's--"

"That's another matter," interrupted a familiar voice with the greatest
cheerfulness; "that's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Ha! ha!
Well, Mrs. Patterson," continued Poindexter, stepping from his buggy,
"you never spoke a truer word in your life. One moment, Mrs. Tucker. Let
me send you back in the buggy. Don't mind ME. I can get a fresh horse of
the sheriff. I'm quite at home here. I say, Patterson, step a few paces
this way, will you? A little further from your wife, please. That'll