"Ad'licia!" he exclaimed petulantly, but with an evident softening of his fierce mood, "whyn't ye say suthin'? Whyn't ye say suthin' ter me?" "I dunno what ter say," she responded coolly. "Ye know what I want ter hear," he declared passionately. "'Tain't no use ter say it agin." She turned upon him her eyes, soft and lustrous, like some brownish-greenish moss in the depths of a crystal spring. "I done said it an' said it." His hand released the pistol, and pushed his hat far back on his dark hair with a hasty gesture of impatience. Then, with a sudden calmness, "Ad'licia, ye oughtn't ter git mad with me! Ye oughtn't ter git mad so dad-burned easy!" "Mebbe I oughtn't," she said, with a note of sarcasm in her vibrant voice. Her eyes were bright, her cheek flushed. "'Tain't right," he continued didactically. "'Tain't religious." He looked at her with grave, admonitory eyes. "Mebbe 'tain't," she responded. She laughed a little, unmirthfully, and her lip quivered. He strode on a few steps in silence, at a loss for words for explanation. He dreaded and deferred it, and yet he longed for its possible reassurance. As his thoughts canvassed its probabilities, he broke out tumultuously once more:-- "I hev got good reason ter b'lieve ye air foolin' me,--good reason, I tell ye, now, Ad'licia!" "Good reason agin my word?" she demanded, her pride in her eyes. He stared at her. "A gal's word!" he said lightly, and then he laughed. As a guaranty it struck him humorously. "I reckon thar ain't many men ez would be willin' ter stand or fall by sech." "Ye set store by it wunst," she said humbly. "'Twar when ye promised ter marry me," he declared precipitately, unconsciously showing that it was the prospect which he had valued without trusting the promise. "An' I want ye ter 'bide by it, too," he sternly added, suddenly perceiving that it was not policy to adduce too freely precedents as to the friability of feminine promises. She shook her head, regardless of his keen, fiery eye. "I ain't goin' ter marry nobody, I reckon," she said slowly. "Ye'll shoot me dead fust, some day, in one o' yer tantrums." "Ye ain't a-goin' ter marry 'Renzo Taft, an' that I tell ye, now. I'll shoot ye fust, sure!" he cried furiously, his eyes blazing upon her. The look in her face checked his passionate rage. An utter wonderment, a deep bewilderment, overspread it as she echoed, "_'Renzo Taft!_ The man over yander at Lost Time mine? War ye a-talkin' 'bout _him_?" He controlled himself instantly, although his eyes were all ashine and alertly restless. "Who war you-uns a-thinkin' 'bout, Ad'licia?" he asked gently and incidentally. "Jasper Larrabee, o' course," she answered innocently. He could only grind a curse between his teeth, and then he was speechless for a moment.