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Updated: June 16, 2025
There was the candle on the table, there were the familiar chairs, the fireplace, the shelves upon which were Dakota's tobacco tins and matches; there was the guitar, with its gaudy string, suspended from the wall. If it had been raining, she might have imagined that she was just awakening from a sleep in that other time.
For in the evilness of his mind he had drawn many imaginary pictures of what had occurred between Dakota and Sheila immediately after her rescue by the latter. "I reckon," he said hoarsely, "that you take a heap of interest in Sheila." "That's part of your business, I suppose?" Dakota's voice was suddenly hard.
Suddenly remembering Dakota's vest and the black leather memoranda which had dropped from one of the pockets, she got up again and went to the bench where she had laid the garment, taking out the book and regarding it with some curiosity. There was nothing on the cover to suggest what might be the nature of its contents time had worn away any printing that might have been on it.
On the other hand, jealousy urged him to accept any risk; it kept telling him over and over that he was a fool to allow Dakota to live. But Duncan knew better than to attempt an open clash with Dakota; each time that he had looked into Dakota's eyes he had seen there something which told him plainer than words of his own inferiority that he would have no chance in a man-to-man encounter with him.
Several times during the morning he was on the point of planning an attack on the cabin, but Dakota's voice had a ring of truth in it and he delayed action, waiting for some more favorable turn of events. And so the hours dragged.
"I suppose there are none of that breed around here in Lazette, for instance. It struck me that Dakota was extraordinarily handy with a gun." He puffed long at his cigar and saw that, though Duncan did not answer, his face had grown suddenly dark with passion, as it always did when Dakota's name was mentioned. Langford smiled subtly. "I suppose," he said, "that Dakota might be called a bad man."
One of Duncan's arms swung oddly at his side, and Sheila thought instantly of his curse when he had been riding near her at the river crossing. Evidently Allen's bullet had struck him. Sheila's presence at Dakota's cabin was now unnecessary, for it was evident that an understanding had been reached with Allen, and Sheila experienced a sudden aversion to appearing among the men.
There was a good moon, and its mellow light streamed full into Dakota's grim, travel-stained face as he halted his pony on the crest of a slope above the Two Forks and pointed out a light that glimmered weakly through the trees on a level some distance on the other side of the river. "There's Doubler's cabin where you see that light," he continued, speaking to Sheila in a low voice.
One of his heavy revolvers leaped from its holster and showed for an instant in his right hand. Sheila had been watching closely, forewarned by Dakota's manner, and when she saw his right hand drop to the holster she sprang upon him, catching the weapon by the muzzle.
She echoed his words with a hopeless intonation that closed Dakota's teeth like a vise. "I don't know what has come over him," she continued, looking up at Dakota, her eyes filled with wonder for the sympathy which she saw in his face and voice; "he has changed since he came out here; he is so selfish and heartless." "What's he been doing? Hurting you?"
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