“Well, I never did believe in talking shop, Annie.”

“That’s just it.  You were always polite—­and calling what you did, ‘shop’!  I don’t believe you ever cared for a single person on this earth!”

“You ought to know, Annie.  But we won’t argue that.  Don’t act as though you had to defend yourself.  I am not blaming you—­now.  You have explained.  I did miss the boy, though.  Are you doing well here?”

“It was hard work at first.  But I never did write to father to help me.”

“You might have written to me.  When did the boy go to work?  He’s eighteen, isn’t he?”

Mrs. Adams smiled despite herself.  “Yes, this fall.  He started in with the Starr people at the spring round-up.”

“Couldn’t he help you here?”

“He did.  But he’s not the kind to hang round a hotel.  He’s all man—­if I do say it.”  And Mrs. Adams glanced at her husband.  In his lithe, well-set-up figure she saw what her son would be at forty.  “Yes, Jim, he’s man size—­and I’ve raised him to go straight.”

Waring laughed.  “Of course you have!  What name will I sign, Annie?”

“Folks here call me Mrs. Adams.”

“So you’re Annie Adams again!  Well, here’s your husband’s name, if you don’t mind.”  And he signed the register, “James Waring, Sonora, Mexico.”

“Isn’t that risky?” she queried.

“No one knows me up here.  And I don’t intend to stay long.  I’d like to see the boy.”

“Jim, you won’t take him away!”

“You know me better than that.  You quit me down there, and I won’t say that I liked it.  I wondered how you’d get along.  You left no word.  When I realized that you must have wanted to leave me, that settled it.  Following you would have done no good, even if I had known where you had gone.  I was free.  And a gunman has no business with a family.”

“You might have thought about that before you came courting me.”

“I did.  Didn’t you?”

“You’re hard, Jim.  I was just a girl.  Any woman would have been glad to marry you then.  But when I got sense enough to see how you earned your money—­I just had to leave.  I was afraid to tell you—­”

“There, now, Annie; we’ll let that go.  I won’t say that I don’t care, but I’ve been mighty busy since you left.  I didn’t know where you were until I hit Nogales.  I wanted to see you and the boy.  And I’m as hungry as a grizzly.”

“Anita is getting supper.  Some of the folks in town board here.  They’ll be coming in soon.”

“All right.  I’m a stranger.  I rode over.  I’d like to wash up.”

“You rode over?”

“Yes.  Why not?  I know the country.”

Mrs. Adams turned and gestured toward the stairway.  She followed him and showed him to a room.  So he hadn’t come in on the Overland, but had ridden up from Sonora.  Why had he undertaken such a long, weary ride?  Surely he could have taken the train!  She had never known him to be without money.  But he had always been unaccountable, coming and going when he pleased, saying little, always serene.  And now he had not said why he had ridden up from Sonora.  “Why not?” was all that he had said in explanation.