ds,
but it's an imposition for him to go racing all over these hills with a
game leg and expect you to pull him through."

Before midnight Dick was in a raging fever. In delirium he tossed from
side to side, sometimes silent for long stretches, then babbling
fragments of forgotten scenes rescued by his memory automatically from
the wild and picturesque past of the man. Now he fancied himself again a
schoolboy, now a ranger in Arizona, now mushing on the snow trails of
Alaska. At times he would imagine that he was defending his mine against
attacking strikers, or that he was combing the Rincons for horse
thieves. Out of his turbid past flared for an instant dramatic moments
of comedy or tragedy. These passed like the scenes of a motion-picture
story, giving place to something else.

In the end he came back always to the adventure he was still living.

"You're a spy.... You're a liar and a cheat.... You imposed yourself
upon my hospitality under false pretenses.... I hate myself for
breathing the same air as you." He would break off to laugh foolishly,
in a high-pitched note of derision at himself. "Stand up, Dick Gordon,
and hear the lady tell you what a coyote you are. Stan' up and face the
music, you quitter. Liar ... spy ... cheat! That's you, Dick Gordon,
un'erstand?"

Or the sick mind of the man would forget for the moment that they had
quarreled. His tongue would run over conversations that they had had,
cherishing and repeating over and over again her gay little quips and
sallies or her light phrases.

"Valencia Valdes is as God made her. Now you're throwing sixes, ma'am.
Sure she's like that. The devil helped a heap to make most of us what we
are, but I reckon God made that little lady early in the mo'ning when He
was feeling fine.... Say, I wish you'd look at me like that again and
light up with another of them dimply smiles. I got a surprise for you,
Princess of the Rio Chama. Honest, I have. Sure as you're a foot
high.... Never you mind what it is. Just you wait a while and I'll
spring it when the time's good and ready. I got to wait till the papers
come. See? ... Oh, shucks, you're sore at me again! Liar ... cheat ...
spy! Say, I know when I've had a-plenty. She don't like me. I'm goin' to
pull my freight for the Kotzebue country up in Alaska.

'_On the road to Kotzebue, optimistic through and through,
We'll hit the trail together, boy, once more, jest me an' you_.'

Funny how women act, ain't it?