Are you feelin' better over it ?" Owen's head bent over his horse's mane; his chin was on his chest when he answered: "Come and kill me." "Hell!" exploded Sanderson, disgustedly.

"If there was anything comin' to you killin' would be too good for you.

You ain't done anything to me, you sufferin' fool--not a thing! What you've done you've done to Mary Bransford.

When you see Dale an' Silverthorn grabbin' the Double A, an' Mary Bransford ridin' away, homeless--you'll have feelin's of remorse, mebbe--if you've got any man in you at all!" Owen writhed and groaned.
"It was the whisky--the cursed whisky!" he whispered.

"I can't let it alone--I love it! And once I get a taste of it, I'm gone---I'm a stark, staring lunatic!" "I'd swear to that," grimly agreed Sanderson.
"I didn't mean to say a word to anybody," wailed the little man.