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Updated: May 25, 2025
Kate had gone to Teeters in despair after her failure with Mullendore, hoping that he might have something to suggest which had not occurred to her. She had told him all that had happened, and among other things, that she knew now that the "breed" had negro blood in him. "It probably accounts for his secret belief in an old-fashioned, brimstone hell," she had added.
"Would you do something for me if I kissed you if Katie Prentice kissed you, Pete Mullendore?" She repeated her words, speaking in a whisper, with careful distinctness. "Will you tell Katie something that she wants to know, if she kisses you, Pete Mullendore?"
A look of horror froze on her gray face, and her voice rose to a shriek. "He says he's Mormon Joe! He cries Confess! Confess!" To Mullendore with his inflamed brain and nerves jangling like a network of loose wire, she seemed like a direct emissary from the place of torment, which was as real to him as the wagon in which he lay.
He wore a dusty, high-crowned black hat, overalls, mackinaw coat, with a small woolen scarf twisted about his neck, and in his hand he carried a gnarled staff. His eyes had a humorously cynical light lurking in their brown depths. Mullendore did not reply, but with another oath began to untie the lash rope from the nearest pack. "Wonder if I could get a drink of water?"
Her pupils dilated and she lowered her voice: "He's ornery Pete Mullendore." As though in response to his name, that person came around the corner with his bent-kneed slouch, giving to the girl as he passed a look so malignant, and holding so unmistakable a threat, that it chilled and sobered the stranger who stood leaning against the water barrel.
"You're bragging, Pete Mullendore. My mother's not afraid of you." "Jest a line on a postal ud bring the Old Man on a special. You're more afraid of the Old Man than you are of dyin' ain't it the truth, Isabelle?" he mumbled. "You're only talking to hear yourself you wouldn't know where to write. You've forgotten the name of the town where the 'Old Man' lives.
She slipped both arms through one of his and hugged it convulsively, while in a kind of hysteria she begged: "Don't send me back, Mister! I won't go! I'll kill myself first. Take me with you please, please let me go with you!" "Tell me what it's all about." She did not answer, and he urged: "Go on. Don't be afraid. You can tell me anything." She replied in a strained voice: "Pete Mullendore, he "
Kate had no prearranged plan as to the course she would pursue if Mullendore became rational, but trusted to her instinct to guide her. She was certain only of one thing that if he had a spark of manhood in him she would reach it somehow.
Freighter Sam used to bang her head agin the door jamb about twict a week, and they got along good until he fell for a hasher in an eatin' house and quit Isabelle cold. She hit bottom pretty pronto after that." Mullendore stopped. "But my father, Pete; tell me more about him!"
"I can't bear to think of leaving you alone up here," he protested vehemently. "Why not let me stay and you go down to the wagons?" She shook her head. "There's not the slightest danger. He's done his work for the present, and it may be a long time before I'm again molested." "Whom do you mean?" he asked quickly. "A 'breed' named Mullendore that hates me."
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