"Now!" said L. W. as he winced at the pull, "you can decide what you're going to do. Are you going to bust my arm, where I got it shot in two jest by fighting Ike Bray for your mine; or are you going to stan' up here and apologize like a gentleman for saying Miss Fortune sold you out." "I'll apologize, doggone you," answered Rimrock between his teeth, "if you'll shut up and let go my coat." "Well, all right, then," sighed L. W. as he cradled his injured arm, "I'll wait for you at the head of the stairs." "You do and I'll kill you," returned Rimrock savagely. "Go on, now--and don't you come back." He waved a threatening hand at the belligerent L. W. and watched him till he passed down the stairs. Then, turning to Mary, he set his mouth and looked her over grimly. "Well, I apologize," he said. "Does that make you feel better? And now I hope I may go." "No, you can't," she replied. "Now it's my turn to apologize. And I hope you have good luck." She held out her hand and he glanced at it questioningly, then reached out and took it in his. "I mean it," he said with sudden earnestness. "I sure-enough apologize. I'm sorry for what I done." She patted his hand where it still held hers fast and bowed her head to keep back the tears. "It's all right," she said. "We could never be happy. It's better to have you go." "I'll come back!" he said with impulsive gladness. "I'll come back--if you say the word." "Well--come back, then," she answered. "But not to quarrel; not to haggle, and backbite and scold! Oh, it makes me so ashamed! I used to be reasonable; but it doesn't seem possible now. I can't even save your mine, that you killed a man over and went to prison to defend; I can't even do that but in such a hateful way that you won't accept it as a gift." "Aw, you take it too hard," protested Rimrock feebly. "Say, come on over here and sit down." He led her reluctantly to the ill-fated balcony, but at the divan she balked and drew back. "No, not there," she said with a little shudder, and turned back and sank down in a chair. "Well, all right," agreed Rimrock, but as he drew up another he suddenly divined her thought. "Say, I apologize again," he went on abjectly, "for that time--you know--when she came. I was a Mexican's dog, there's no use talking, but--oh, well, I've been a damned fool." "You mustn't swear so much," she corrected him gently; and then they gazed at each other in silence. "It's strange," she murmured, "how we hated each other. Almost from the first day, it seems. But no, not the first! I liked you then, Rimrock; better than I ever will again. You were so clean and strong then, so full of enthusiasm; but now--well, I wish you were poor." "Ain't I broke?" he demanded and she looked at him sadly as she slowly shook her head. "No, you're rich," she said. "I'm going to give you back the mine, and then I'm going away."