"Shucks," observed the American with an air of finality, and turning to Carmelita requested her to fetch the nuggets, the spondulicks, the dope—in short, the wad. Carmelita disappeared into her little room and returned in a few moments with a roll of notes.
"Well, good-bye, my dear old chap," said John Bull, taking the American's hand. "You understand all I can't say, don't you? … Good-bye."
"Nuthin' doin', John," was the answer.
"Hurry him off, Carmelita, we've wasted quite time enough," said John Bull, turning to the girl. "If he doesn't go now and do his best for himself, he doesn't love you. Do clear him out. It's death or penal servitude if he's caught. He struck Legros before Legros even threatened him—and Legros is dead."
"You hear what Signor Jean Boule says. Are you going?" said Carmelita, turning to the American.
"No, my gal. I ain't," was the prompt reply. "How can I, Carmelita? … I'm his pal.… Hev' I got ter choose between yew an' him?"
"Of course you have," put in John Bull. "Stay here and you will never see her again. It won't be a choice between me and her then; it'll be between death and penal servitude."
The Bucking Bronco took Carmelita's face between his hands.
"Little gal," he said, "I didn't reckon there was no such thing as 'love,' outside books, ontil I saw yew. Life wasn't worth a red cent ontil yew came hyar. Then every time I gits inter my bunk, I thinks over agin every word I'd said ter yew thet night, an' every word yew'd said ter me. An' every mornin' when I gits up, I ses, 'I shall see Carmelita ter-night,'
