leave, Norah. Don't burden him with dramatics now."
"Burden?" Norah said vaguely. "I want to help him."
"How? By pushing your way in here?"
Enmity hung in the air. Paul could feel it, and he didn't want to cope with it just then. He wanted no grief, no pity.
"Let her alone, Addie," he said. Then to Norah, "You'd better go home, Norah. This is no place for you."
"I've been here before," she pleaded.
"Today is pay day, and the men will play rough. Go on home."
"If that's what you want," Norah said stiffly, and he knew she felt thrust out and discarded. She turned, unable to control the sob that shook her. Paul felt something twist in him at the sound.
Addie had warm water and cloths, and she was washing the blood off his face and out of his hair. The warm water dulled the pain which was simmering down into one big hurt. He lay with his eyes closed, trying to piece things together.
Addie, gently salving his cuts, said firmly, "This particular quarrel is ended—at least the fighting part of it."
"Miles ran out, but he wasn't licked," Paul said, feeling his face smart when he talked.
"But I tell you you'll never have to use your fists on those two again. I know."
Paul frowned. "I whipped them yesterday, and they came back."
"They were drunk. They wanted another chance, and now they've had it. They'll accept the decision as far as fists go."
"What do you mean by that, Addie?"
"There are lots of ways to get back at a man without getting hurt. You'll have to watch yourself from now on," Addie warned him.
"How did you ever get dragged into this business, Addie?" Paul asked.
"I wasn't dragged in," she said. "I came in with my eyes open because I wanted to. I was luckier than most."
"How?" he asked, leading her on.
"Aren't you prying?"
"You don't have to tell me anything."
"I know it, but I feel myself wanting to tell you. I'm afraid it would bore you."
"Try me."
"Well, I was raised in Colorado on a homestead on which my folks tried to ranch. The earth there God made for other things, lizards and rocks mostly. We all worked so hard for practically nothing that I vowed as a small girl to find some way, any way, to get free of such a life. My mother killed herself with work, and I couldn't stand it any more."
"I was sixteen then. The next time we drove to town for supplies, I looked up Mike Pugmire, who owned the fanciest saloon in town, and asked him for a job. Mike eyed me familiarly to see if I'd wince, but I gritted my teeth and took it. I showed him my legs; they were all right. So he gave me a job and advised me to learn to dance. I had a rather appealing voice, and the men liked my singing."
"Then I met Carter Grievy. There was a man! He was older than me by quite a bit, but he did things in grand style. You know, I never was sure if we were legally married. We were hitched by a wandering preacher. It worked out all right, though, and Carter taught me how to take care of myself and this business. We lost a horse one day not long after we started the Lone Chance. Carter went down to the Ute village to inquire about it. He never came back, and no trace of him could be found. The only proof we had he was dead were his watch and a fancy belt he always wore. They were later found in a tribe in New Mexico by a man who recognized them."
"You make it sound very simple. And now?"
"Now what?" Addie asked.
"Well, a person's life doesn't end—not while they're alive."
"Look, my friend," Addie said softly, "life is doled out to us in slices and morsels. A day's ration at a time, and no one knows what tomorrow's fare might be."
"I heard the name Severs," Paul said, his eyes closed. "Your man?"
"I don't know," she admitted slowly. "Right now he's not even his own man. Alonzo Finch has some kind of power over him, I don't know what."
"Finch is a weasel—a sucker, stealing others' lives to live by. He did side me in the fight out there, though."
"His type of man would do that," Addie agreed. "In the first place,
"Burden?" Norah said vaguely. "I want to help him."
"How? By pushing your way in here?"
Enmity hung in the air. Paul could feel it, and he didn't want to cope with it just then. He wanted no grief, no pity.
"Let her alone, Addie," he said. Then to Norah, "You'd better go home, Norah. This is no place for you."
"I've been here before," she pleaded.
"Today is pay day, and the men will play rough. Go on home."
"If that's what you want," Norah said stiffly, and he knew she felt thrust out and discarded. She turned, unable to control the sob that shook her. Paul felt something twist in him at the sound.
Addie had warm water and cloths, and she was washing the blood off his face and out of his hair. The warm water dulled the pain which was simmering down into one big hurt. He lay with his eyes closed, trying to piece things together.
Addie, gently salving his cuts, said firmly, "This particular quarrel is ended—at least the fighting part of it."
"Miles ran out, but he wasn't licked," Paul said, feeling his face smart when he talked.
"But I tell you you'll never have to use your fists on those two again. I know."
Paul frowned. "I whipped them yesterday, and they came back."
"They were drunk. They wanted another chance, and now they've had it. They'll accept the decision as far as fists go."
"What do you mean by that, Addie?"
"There are lots of ways to get back at a man without getting hurt. You'll have to watch yourself from now on," Addie warned him.
"How did you ever get dragged into this business, Addie?" Paul asked.
"I wasn't dragged in," she said. "I came in with my eyes open because I wanted to. I was luckier than most."
"How?" he asked, leading her on.
"Aren't you prying?"
"You don't have to tell me anything."
"I know it, but I feel myself wanting to tell you. I'm afraid it would bore you."
"Try me."
"Well, I was raised in Colorado on a homestead on which my folks tried to ranch. The earth there God made for other things, lizards and rocks mostly. We all worked so hard for practically nothing that I vowed as a small girl to find some way, any way, to get free of such a life. My mother killed herself with work, and I couldn't stand it any more."
"I was sixteen then. The next time we drove to town for supplies, I looked up Mike Pugmire, who owned the fanciest saloon in town, and asked him for a job. Mike eyed me familiarly to see if I'd wince, but I gritted my teeth and took it. I showed him my legs; they were all right. So he gave me a job and advised me to learn to dance. I had a rather appealing voice, and the men liked my singing."
"Then I met Carter Grievy. There was a man! He was older than me by quite a bit, but he did things in grand style. You know, I never was sure if we were legally married. We were hitched by a wandering preacher. It worked out all right, though, and Carter taught me how to take care of myself and this business. We lost a horse one day not long after we started the Lone Chance. Carter went down to the Ute village to inquire about it. He never came back, and no trace of him could be found. The only proof we had he was dead were his watch and a fancy belt he always wore. They were later found in a tribe in New Mexico by a man who recognized them."
"You make it sound very simple. And now?"
"Now what?" Addie asked.
"Well, a person's life doesn't end—not while they're alive."
"Look, my friend," Addie said softly, "life is doled out to us in slices and morsels. A day's ration at a time, and no one knows what tomorrow's fare might be."
"I heard the name Severs," Paul said, his eyes closed. "Your man?"
"I don't know," she admitted slowly. "Right now he's not even his own man. Alonzo Finch has some kind of power over him, I don't know what."
"Finch is a weasel—a sucker, stealing others' lives to live by. He did side me in the fight out there, though."
"His type of man would do that," Addie agreed. "In the first place,
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