"All right. But I'm not, and I won't be sorry."
She wondered whether he had fallen under the influence of drink. Jim
had never cared for liquor, which virtue was about the only one he
possessed. Remembering his kisses, she knew he had not been
drinking. There was a strangeness about him, though, that she could
not fathom. Had he guessed his kisses would have that power? If he
dared again--! She trembled, and it was not only rage. But she would
teach him a lesson.
"Joan, I kissed you because I can't be a hangdog any longer," he
said. "I love you and I'm no good without you. You must care a
little for me. Let's marry ... I'll--"
"Never!" she replied, like flint. "You're no good at all."
"But I am," he protested, with passion. "I used to do things. But
since--since I've met you I've lost my nerve. I'm crazy for you. You
let the other men run after you. Some of them aren't fit to--to--Oh,
I'm sick all the time! Now it's longing and then it's jealousy. Give
me a chance, Joan."
"Why?" she queried, coldly. "Why should I? You're shiftless. You
won't work. When you do find a little gold you squander it. You have
nothing but a gun. You can't do anything but shoot."
"Maybe that'll come in handy," he said, lightly.
"Jim Cleve, you haven't it in you even to be BAD," she went on,
stingingly.
At that he made a violent gesture. Then he loomed over her. "Joan
Handle, do you mean that?" he asked.
"I surely do," she responded. At last she had struck fire from him.
The fact was interesting. It lessened her anger.
"Then I'm so low, so worthless, so spineless that I can't even be
bad?"
"Yes, you are."
"That's what you think of me--after I've ruined myself for love of
you?"
She laughed tauntingly. How strange and hot a glee she felt in
hurting him!
"By God, I'll show you!" he cried, hoarsely.
"What will you do, Jim?" she asked, mockingly.
"I'll shake this camp. I'll rustle for the border. I'll get in with
Kells and Gulden ... You'll hear of me, Joan Randle!"
These were names of strange, unknown, and wild men of a growing and
terrible legion on the border. Out there, somewhere, lived
desperados, robbers, road-agents, murderers. More and more rumor had
brought tidings of them into the once quiet village. Joan felt a
slight cold sinking sensation at her heart. But this was only a
magnificent threat of Jim's. He could not do such a thing. She would
never let him, even if he could. But after the incomprehensible
manner of woman, she did not tell him that.