She faced him with a flame in her eyes.  “Had I known you, I never would have married you.  But now that I do know you, I could never live with you again.  I loathe and despise you, with all the strength that is in me.”

“You want to leave me, eh?” He sneered as he stared at her.  “And go with him?...  Won’t your reputation—?”

“What do I care for my reputation?” she flared.  “At least I shall have my self-respect.  I never could keep that if I went back to you.”

“It’s your reputation, of course,” Pell smiled.  “You can do as you like with it.”  He turned fully toward her.  “All right, I’ve no objection.”

“You’re lying,” Gilbert affirmed.

Pell’s tongue rolled round in his cheek.  “I don’t blame you for thinking so. You haven’t been shot to-day.  You should try it sometime.  It changes one’s viewpoint surprisingly.”  His voice seemed to lose its hardness for a moment; there was a note of self-pity in it.

“But you said—­” Gilbert began.

Pell’s whole manner changed, and the look of a wounded animal came into his eyes.  “A man says many things in anger that he doesn’t mean,” was his own extenuation.  “Haven’t you ever made the same mistake yourself, Jones?  I’m sure you have.  There’s no use getting excited.”  He put up a hand.  “Here we are, we three.  She is my wife.  But she doesn’t love me, nor do I love her.  She does love you.  What is the best way out for all of us?”

A new Morgan Pell!  They could scarcely believe the metamorphosis.

“You’d give her up?” Gilbert said.

The other looked down, and the point of his boot drew a little ring on the floor.  “I can’t hold her,” he said, “if she doesn’t want to be held, can I?”

“You don’t intend—­”

“To fight you?” Pell looked him squarely in the eye.  “I do not.  I’ve had all the fighting I want for one day.  Now, my own course is simple.  I have merely to go back to New York and forget that either of you ever existed.  But your problem is more difficult.  It’s after eight.  You’ve lost the ranch.  And you have no money.”

“But I can earn money,” Gilbert said.

“A hundred dollars a month punching cows?  With her in a boarding-house in Bisbee?  A nice life, isn’t it?  Do you care to think of it, both of you?”

“I can take care of her,” Gilbert was quick in saying.

“With your friend, Lopez—­if he escapes—­become a professional killer.  My dear chap, you forget.  She’s used to decent people.  It makes all the difference in the world.”  Pell turned away, lest the hard look should return to his countenance.

Lucia had been listening intently.  “I know him, Gil,” she whispered, loud enough for her husband to hear.  “He’s trying to frighten us!”

Pell faced her.  “Frighten you?  You’re wrong, my dear.  I’m merely trying to help you.  That’s all.”