Spellman wavered through the smoke haze, then dropped his pistol and fell slowly across the card table littered with shining cards and poker chips. An overturned tallow-dip dropped in a pool of wine and rolled down against the dead man's cheek, dabbling it with the color which would never return to it again.
"Bet, ain't that Curly Gillmore that we knew three years ago at Coloma, when Allie died?"
"Must be a-gittin' blind! Where?"
"The feller all dressed up an' walkin' with the lady. Sure it is! Hi, Curly, hel-lo! It's Babe. Well, ain't I glad - "
The woman with Curly fixed Babe with a stony glare. "If you wish to converse with this ... woman, kindly do so when your wife is not accompanying you," she said to him in an angry undertone, and went majestically on.
"I'll come back, Babe. We've been married just a month and she doesn't understand. I'll be back later," and he hurried off.
"Bet, did you see who that was with Curly? His wife, he said."
"Aw-w, Babe, don't you fret! I guess we fill our little place out here in Californy near as much as some o' the fine ladies do."