“Virey, come out!” he called, loudly, though without any particular feeling. There was no reply, and he repeated the call, this time louder. Still Virey remained silent. Waiting a moment longer, Adam finally spoke again, with deliberate, cold voice. “Virey, I don’t want to mess up that room, with all your wife’s belongings in there. So come outside.” At that Adam heard a quick, panting breath. Then Virey appeared--came to the door of the shack. Adam could not have told what the man’s distorted face resembled. He carried a gun, and his heart was ferocious if his will was weak. “Don’t you--lay one of your--bloody hands on me,” he panted. Adam took two long strides and halted before Virey, not six feet distant. “So you’ve got your little gun, eh?” he queried, without any particular force. Adam had been compelled to smother all that mighty passion within him, or he could not have answered for his actions. “What are you going to do with it?” “If you make a--move at me--I’ll kill you,” came the husky, panting response. “Virey, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your worthless life,” declared Adam, monotonously, as if he had learned this speech by rote. “But I’ve got to talk first. I’m full of a million things to call you.” “Damn you, I’ll not listen,” replied Virey, beginning to shake with excitement. The idea of using the gun had become an intent and was acting powerfully upon him. “You leave my--camp--you get out--of this valley!” “Virey, are you crazy?” queried Adam. The use of his voice had changed that deadlock of his feelings. He must not trust himself to bandy speech with Virey. The beating must be administered quickly or there would be something worse. Yet how desperately hard not to try to awaken conscience or sense in this man! “No, I’m not crazy,” yelled Virey. “If you’re not crazy, then that trick of throwing a tarantula on your wife was damnable--mean--hellish--monstrous.... My God! man, can’t you see what a coward you are? To torture her--as if you were a heathen! That delicate woman--all quivering nerves! To pick on a weakness, like that of a child! Virey, if you’re not crazy you’re the worst brute I’ve ever met on the desert. You’ve sunk lower than men whom the desert has made beasts. You----” “Beast I am--thanks to my delicate wife,” cried Virey, with exceeding bitter passion. “Delicate? Ha-ha! The last lover of Magdalene Virey can’t see she’s strong as steel--alive as red fire! How she clings to memory! How she has nine lives of a cat--and hangs on to them--just to remember!... And you--meddler! You desert rat of a preacher! Get out--or I’ll kill you!” “Shoot and be damned!” flashed Adam, as with leap as swift as his voice he reached a sweeping arm.