talking, anyhow? I haven't got anything. I've lost my cattle. I've lost everything. Hi, Joe! Bring that lantern over here."
He took it from the negro boy, and held it up. "Look at me," he said. "Do I look like anything you want to waste your time on? I do not, and you know it."
"You look like my own dear Tom," she said, her voice breaking.
He put down the lantern, not too steadily.
"You run on home, girl, and be comfortable and happy. Don't be sorry for me. I'm getting on fine, and I'm paying my notes, too. If you ever hear different, it's a lie."
"You don't want me, do you?"
"I haven't said that." He moved, looked around. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "I'll have to get busy. We're leaving tonight." He hesitated, took off his hat, and suddenly she saw that he was holding out his hand.
"Well, good-bye, girl," he said. "I'm sure glad I saw you again."
She did not take the hand.
"And that's all?"
"What else is there?" he asked, smiling down at her. "You've got your life to live, and I've got mine. You said that to me once, a good while ago."
He looked down at his rejected hand, dropped it, put on his hat.
"So long, girl. Good luck."
He was going. Incredibly, uncompromisingly, he was going. She had made her gesture and been rejected. He was the same Tom; nothing had changed him, nothing ever would change him. If she went back to him it would be on his terms, not hers. But she could not even go back to him. He would not have her. He needed her, but he would not have her.
"Tom!" she said desperately.
He stopped.
"I won't be sent away like this, Tom. I've come back to you, don't you understand? I was going West tonight.
