"Oh, I told her I was a villain, told her I fully expected to be arrested there and had only stopped to settle my promise to her father. It was a different thing for me to tell her I was a villain from another telling her that. When a villain tells his villainy to the ear of a woman he becomes almost a hero to her. She begged me to change my ways, and I promised that for her sake I would. Quite romantic, eh? A touch of Sydney Carton—eh?" and he laughed. "And now she will remember me, if she does not indeed forget me, as a good fellow gone wrong, and thank God she has so good a husband as George. And George is not so bad a fellow. He can appreciate his master when he meets him. That is one good point about George. George is like the lion in the cage, the lion that roars in rage after the tamer has gone and determines to slay him on his next visit. But on the next visit he goes through his tricks as usual. It’s a pleasure at least to know that George at last was forced to hold out his hand to me and call himself my friend. He does n’t know why he did. He ’ll remember and wonder and he’ll never understand. That day that he came in and held me up,—you remember?—I said to myself: ’You come to kill me to-day, but the day will come, not when I will crush you, but when you will come to me just like my little poodle dog.’" He broke off and smote the buzzing insect to the floor as it blundered past his face (he was sitting on a chair with his arms folded on the back) and drew his foot across it. "And he came, didn’t he?" he added. "My poodle dog! "But after all," he said, after a pause, "a woman that could be moved by my little poodle dog could never be the woman for me. When I look for a woman it must be one who does not doubt me—and who does not fear me. She did not fear me and that was why I thought— Ah well, you see, she doubted me. But let’s to bed." So we put out the light and turned in. But I lay some time considering that Apache Kid was not the domineering man his words might have caused one to think. He covered up a deal of what was in his heart with a froth of words. Next day (or I should say, later in that day), we continued our journey, after a few hours’ sleep and a monstrous breakfast; but never another word was spoken on the matter of the previous night and in the bright afternoon we came into Kettle River Gap and found that the "east-bound" was due at three in the afternoon. In the hotel to which we repaired for refreshment Apache Kid wrote a letter to a dealer in New York, a letter which I was to deliver in person, carrying with me the turquoises. "One gets far better prices in New York than in any of the western towns," explained Apache Kid. "You can rely on this fellow, too. We are old friends, and he will do the square thing. You can send on half the amount to me, deducting what you have lent me." "Oh, nonsense!" said I.