"My, what a hurricane of a man it is.
I'm quite blown away.
And you haven't explained a word to me."
Daylight smiled responsively.
"Look here, Dede, this is what card-sharps call a show-down.
No more philandering and frills and long-distance sparring between you and me.
We're just going to talk straight out in meeting—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Now you answer some questions for me, and then I'll answer yours."
He paused.
"Well, I've got only one question after all: Do you love me enough to marry me?"
"But—" she began.
"No buts," he broke in sharply.
"This is a show-down.
When I say marry, I mean what I told you at first, that we'd go up and live on the ranch.
Do you love me enough for that?"
She looked at him for a moment, then her lids dropped, and all of her seemed to advertise consent.
"Come on, then, let's start."
The muscles of his legs tensed involuntarily as if he were about to lead her to the door.
"My auto's waiting outside.
There's nothing to delay excepting getting on your hat."
He bent over her.
"I reckon it's allowable," he said, as he kissed her.
It was a long embrace, and she was the first to speak.
"You haven't answered my questions.
How is this possible?
How can you leave your business?
Has anything happened?"
"No, nothing's happened yet, but it's going to, blame quick.
I've taken your preaching to heart, and I've come to the penitent form.
You are my Lord God, and I'm sure going to serve you.
The rest can go to thunder.
You were sure right.
I've been the slave to my money, and since I can't serve two masters I'm letting the money slide.
I'd sooner have you than all the money in the world, that's all."
Again he held her closely in his arms.
"And I've sure got you, Dede. I've sure got you.
"And I want to tell you a few more.
I've taken my last drink.
You're marrying a whiskey-soak, but your husband won't be that.
He's going to grow into another man so quick you won't know him.
A couple of months from now, up there in Glen Ellen, you'll wake up some morning and find you've got a perfect stranger in the house with you, and you'll have to get introduced to him all over again.
You'll say,
'I'm Mrs. Harnish, who are you?'
And I'll say,
'I'm Elam Harnish's younger brother.
I've just arrived from Alaska to attend the funeral.'
'What funeral?' you'll say.
And I'll say,
'Why, the funeral of that good-for-nothing, gambling, whiskey-drinking Burning Daylight—the man that died of fatty degeneration of the heart from sitting in night and day at the business game
'Yes ma'am,' I'll say, 'he's sure a gone 'coon, but I've come to take his place and make you happy.