"That you--care--for Carter." "Jimsy, have you lost your senses? I--care for _Carter_?" "He told me." "Then," said Honor, her eyes darkening, "he told you a lie." He dropped back on the pillow. He had lost a lot of blood before Yaqui Juan found him and tied up his cut, and he looked white and spent. "Oh, Skipper, please.... Let's not drag it out. I saw your message to him." "What message?" "The one you sent to the steamer, after he'd lost his head and told you he loved you,--and--and asked you if you loved him." Difficult words; grotesque and meaningless, but he must manage with them. "I'm not blaming you, Skipper. I know I'm slow in the head beside Cart' and he can give you a lot that I can't. And nothing--hanging over him. You'd have played the game through to the last gun; I know that. But it wouldn't have been right for any of us. I'm glad Cart' blew up and told me." Honor laid his hand gently back on the bedspread of exquisite Mexican drawnwork and stood up. "Carter showed you the telegram I sent him from Genoa?" "Yes. He carries it always in his wallet." "He told you it meant that I loved him?" "Skipper, don't feel like that about it. It had to come out, some time." His voice sounded weary and weak. She bent over him, speaking gently. "Be quiet, Jimsy; lie still. I'm going to bring Carter up here." "Oh, Skipper, what's the use? You--you make me wish that greaser had finished me, down at the well. Please----" "Wait!" He heard her feet in the hall, flying down the stairs, and he turned his face to the wall again, his young mouth quivering. She found Carter lying on the wide couch, one arm trailing limply over the side of it, the emptied canteen dangling from his hand, and he was breathing with difficulty. His face was darkly mottled and congested but Honor did not notice it. "Carter," she said, "I want you to come with me and tell Jimsy how you lied to him. I want you to tell him what my message really meant." "I--can't come--now," he gasped. "I can't--" he tried to raise himself but he fell back on the pillows. "Then give me your wallet," she said, implacably, bending over him. "No, _no_! It isn't there--wait! By and by I'll----" but his eyes betrayed him. Roughly, with fierce haste, she thrust her hand into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet of limp leather with the initials in slimly wrought gold letters. "Please, Honor! Please,--let me--I'll give you--I'll find it--" he clutched at her dress but she stepped back from the couch and he lost his balance and fell heavily to the floor. When she pulled out the bit of closely folded paper with a sharp sound of triumph there came with it a thick letter which dropped on the red tiles. He snatched at it but Honor's downward swoop was swifter. She stood staring at it, her eyes opening wider and wider, turning the plump letter in her hands.