off 'em all your life. It's blood
money. Man's blood. Human blood. Just the same as runs through our
veins. Oh, say, girl, I've no sort of use for rustlers. They're
crooks, and maybe murderers. Guess they're everything you can think
of, and a sight more. But they're men, and their blood's hot, warm
blood the same as yours and mine. And you reckon to chaffer that blood
for a price. You're going to sell it--for a price. You're going to do
more. Yes. You're going to wreck a woman's conscience for life for
those filthy, blood-soaked dollars. The price? Effie, things are
mighty hard with us. Maybe they're harder with you than me. But I
just can't believe we've dropped so low we can sell the life blood of
even a--murderer. I can't believe it. I just can't. That's all.
Tell 'em, Effie. Tell 'em all you know and have discovered if you
will. Tell 'em in the cause of justice. But barter your soul and
conscience for filthy blood money--I--bah! It makes me turn sick to
think that way."

But Effie was in no mood to listen to the dictates of squeamish
principles from a man who lacked the spirit and power--the will to
raise her out of the mire of penury into which he had helped to plunge
her. The hours of dreary, hopeless labor; the weeks and months of
dismal and grinding poverty had sunk deeply into her soul. No price
was too high to pay to escape these things. In a moment her reply was
pouring forth in a passionate torrent.

"Blood money?" she cried. "Bob, you're crazier than I'd have thought.
Where's the difference? I mean between handin' these folks over to
justice for justice sake, and taking the reward the folks who're most
to benefit by it are ready to hand out to me? Say, you can't talk that
way, Bob. You can't just do it. Aren't the folks who carry out the
justice in the land paid for it--from the biggest judge to the fellow
who handles the levers of the electric chair? Doesn't the country hand
out thousands of dollars every year for the punishment of offenders,
whether it's for the shedding of their life blood, or merely their
heart's blood in the cruel horrors of a penitentiary? Do you think I'm
going to hand out my secret to a bunch of cattlemen for their benefit
and profit, and reap no comfort from it for myself in the miserable
life I'm condemned to endure? Your scruples are just crazy. They're
worse. They're selfish. You'd rather see me drudging all the best
moments of my life aw