BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A BRUCE of The Circle A By HAROLD TITUS AUTHOR OF 'I Conquered" With Frontispiece By STANLEY L. WOOD A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Published by arrangement with SMALL, MAYNAKD & COMPANY Copyright, 1918 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) CONTENTS CHAPTER FACE I THE WOMAN ...... ... . ... ... ... i II SOME MEN ,., ... ; . ,., .. 7 III THE LODGER NEXT DOOR . . ... . 17 IV A REVELATION ,.. . .31 V THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI ...... 46 VI AT THE CIRCLE A .... . . . . 56 VII TONGUES WAG .......... 68 VIII A HEART SPEAKS . . 84 IX LYTTON'S NEMESIS 102 X WHOM GOD HATH JOINED 119 XI THE STORY OF ABE 131 XII THE RUNAWAY . . . .... . . .147 XIII THE SCOURGING 163 XIV THE WOMAN ON HORSEBACK . . . . .187 XV HER LORD AND MASTER ....... 204 XVI THE MESSAGE ON THE SADDLE 223 XVII THE END OF THE VIGIL ....... 239 XVIII THE FIGHT 255 XIX THE TRAILS UNITE , . . -., . . . 278 2133171 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A CHAPTER I THE WOMAN Daylight and the Prescott-Phoenix train were going from Yavapai. Fifty paces from the box of a station a woman stood alone beside the track, bag in hand, watching the three red lights of the observation plat- form dwindle to a ruby unit far down the clicking ribbons of steel. As she watched, she felt herself becoming lost in the spaciousness, the silence of an Arizona evening. Ann Lytton was a stranger in that strange land. Impressions pelted in upon her the silhouetted range against the cerise flush of western sky; the valley sweeping outward in all other directions to lose itself in the creeping blue-grays of night; droning voices of men from the station; a sense of her own physical incon- sequence; her loneliness . . . and, as a background, the insistent vastness of the place. Then, out of the silence from somewhere not far off, came a flat, dead crash, the report of a firearm. The woman was acutely conscious that the voices in the station had broken short with an abruptness which 2 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A alarmed her. The other sound the shot had touched fear in her, too, and the knowledge that it had nipped the attention of the talking men sent a cool thrill down her limbs. A man emerged from the depot and his voice broke in, 11 Wonder where that " He stopped short and the woman divined the reason. She strained to catch the thrum of running hoofs, know- ing intuitively that the man, also, had ceased speaking to listen. She was conscious that she trembled. Another man stepped into the open and spoke, hur- riedly, but so low that Ann could not hear; the first replied in the same manner, giving a sense of stealth, of furtiveness that seemed to the woman portentous. She took a step forward, frightened at she knew not what, wanting to run to the men just because she was afraid and they were human beings. She checked herself, though, and forced reason. This was nonsense! She laid it on her nerves. They were ragged after the suspense and the long jour- ney, the dread and hopes. A shot, a galloping horse, a suspected anxiety in the talk of the two men had com- bined to play upon them in their overwrought condition. Then, the first speaker's voice again, in normal tone, " Trunk here, but I didn't see anybody get off." Ann wanted to laugh with relief. Just that one sen- tence linked her up with everyday life again, took the shake from her knees and the accented leap from her THE WOMAN 3 heart. She was impelled to run to him, and held her- self to a walk by effort. 11 1 beg your pardon. Can you tell me the name of the best hotel? " she asked. The man who had seized the trunk stopped rolling it toward the doorway and turned quickly to look at the woman who stood there in the pallid glow from the one oil lamp. He saw a blue straw toque fitting tightly over a compact mass of black hair; he saw blue eyes, earnest and troubled; red lips, with the fullness of youth; flushed cheeks, a trim, small body clothed in a close fitting, dark suit. "Yes, ma'am; it's th' Manzanita House. It's th' two-story buildin' up th' street. Is this your trunk? " ' Yes. May I leave it here until morning? " The man nodded. ** Sure," he answered. ' Thank you. Is there a carriage here? " He set the trunk on end, wiped his palms on his hips and smiled slightly. " No, ma'am. Yavapai ain't quite up to hacks an' things yet. We're young. You can walk it in two minutes." Ann hesitated. "It's . . . all right, is it?" He did not comprehend. " For me to walk, I mean. Just now. ... It sounded as if some one shot, I thought." He laughed. " Oh, Yavapai's a safe place ! Somebody just shot 4 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A at somethin', I guess. But it's all right. We ain't got no hacks, but we don't have no killin's either." " I'm glad of the one anyhow," Ann smiled, and started away from him not, however, wholly reas- sured. She walked toward the array of yellow lighted win- dows that showed through the deepening darkness, making her way over the hard ground, hurriedly, skirt lifted in the free hand. She had not inspected the shadowy town beyond glancing casually to register the ill-defined impressions of scattered stock pens, sprawl- ing buildings, a short string of box-cars, a water-tank. The country, the location of the settlement, was the thing which had demanded her first attention, for it was all strange, new, a bit terrifying in the twilight. Two men passed her, talking; their voices ceased and she knew that they turned to stare; then one spoke in a lowered tone . . . and the night had them. A man on horseback rode down the street at a slow trot. She wondered uneasily if that was the horse which had raced away at the sound of the shot. From the most brilliantly lighted building the sound of a mechanical piano suddenly burst, hammering out a blatant melody. A thick sprinkling of stars had pricked through the darkening sky and Ann, as she walked along, scanned the outline that each structure made against them. Once she laughed shortly to herself and thought, " The two-story building! " And, almost with that thought, she stood before it. THE WOMAN 5 An oil lamp on an uncertain post was set close against the veranda and through an open window she saw a woman, bearing a tray, pause beside a table and deposit steaming dishes. She walked up the steps, opened the screen door, and entered an unlighted hall, barren, also, to judge from the sounds. On one side was the dining room ; on the other, a cramped office. " This is the Manzanita House? " she asked a youth who, hat on the back of his head, read a newspaper which was spread over the top of a small glass cigar case on the end of a narrow counter. " Yes, ma'am " evidently surprised. He saw her bag, looked at her face again, took off his hat shyly and opened a ruled copybook to which a pencil was attached by a length of grimy cotton twine. He pushed it toward her, and the woman, as she drew off her glove, saw that this was the hotel register. In a bold, large hand she wrote : " Ann Lytton, Portland, Maine." " I'd like a room for to-night," she said, " and to- morrow I'd like to get to the Sunset mine. Can you direct me? " A faint suggestion of anxiety was in her query and on the question the youth looked at her sharply, met her gaze and let his waver off. He turned to put the register on the shelf behind him. ' Why, I can find out," he answered, evasively. " It's over thirty miles out there and th' road ain't so very good yet. You can get th' automobile to take 6 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A you. It's out now took the doctor out this after- noon __ an d won't be back till late, prob'ly." He took the register from the shelf again and, on pretext of noting her room number on the margin of the leaf, re-read her name and address, moving his lips in the soundless syllables. " I'd ... I'd like to go to my room, if I may," the woman said, and, picking up one of the two lighted lamps, the other led her into the hall and up the nar- row flight of stairs. Ten minutes later, the young man stood in the hotel kitchen, the house register in his hands. Over his right shoulder the waitress peered and over his left, the cook breathed heavily, as became her weight. " Just Ann. It don't say Miss or Missus," the wait- ress said. " I know, Nora, but somehow she don't look like his Missus," the boy said, with a shake of his head. " From what you say about her, she sure don't. Are you goin' to tell her anythin' ? Are you goin' to try to find out?" "Not me. I wouldn't tell her nothin'! Gee, I wouldn't have th' nerve. Not after knowin' him and then takin' a real good look at a face like hers." " If she is his, it's a dirty shame ! " the girl de- clared, picking up her tray. She kicked open the swinging door and passed into the dining room. CHAPTER II SOME MEN Ann Lytton ate alone ate alone, but did not sit alone. She was the last patron of the dining room that evening, and, after Nora Brewster, the waitress, had surrounded her plate with an odd assortment of heavy side-dishes, she drew out a chair at the end of the table, seated herself, elbows on the limp, light linen, and, black eyes fast on the face of the other woman, pushed conversation. ;< From the East, ain't you?" she began, and Ann smiled assent. "New York?" " No, not New York," and the blue eyes met the black ones, running quickly over the pretty, dark- skinned face, the thick coils of chestnut hair, noting the big, kindly mouth, the peculiarly weak chin. Ob- viously, the girl was striving to pump the newcomer and on the realization some of the trouble retreated far into the blue eyes and Ann smiled in kindliness at Nora, as she parried the girl's direct questions. In another mood a part of her might have resented this blunt curiosity, but just now it came as a relief from a line of thought which had been too long sus- 7 8 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A tained. And, after they had talked a few moments, the eastern woman found herself interested in the sim- plicity, the patent sincerity, of the other. The con- versation flourished throughout the meal and by the time Ann had tasted and put aside the canned plums she had discovered much about Nora Brewster, while Nora, returning to the kitchen to tell the cook and the boy from the office all she had learned, awakened to the fact that she had fo'ind out nothing at all ! Ann walked slowly from the dining room into the office to leave instructions about her trunk, but the room was empty and she went back to the door which stood open and looked out into the street. From across the way the mechanical giano continued its racket, and an occasional voice was lifted in song or laugh- ter. She thought again of the shot, the running horse. She watched the shadowy figures passing to and fro behind the glazed windows of the saloon and between her brows came a frown. She drew a deep breath, held it a long instant, then let it slip quickly out, ending in a little catch of a cough. She closed one hand and let it fall into the other palm. ' To-morrow at this time, I may know," she mut- tered. She would have turned away and climbed the stairs, then, but on her last glance into the street a moving blotch attracted her attention. She looked at it again, closer; it was approaching the hotel and, after a mo- ment she discerned the outlines of a man walking, lead- SOME MEN 9 ing a horse. A peculiar quality about his movements, an undistinguished part of the picture, held her in the doorway an instant longer. Then, she saw that the man was carrying the limp figure of another and that he was coming directly to- ward her, striding into the circle of feeble light cast from the lamp on the post, growing more and more distinct with each step. A thrill ran through the woman, making her shudder as she drew back; the arms and legs of the figure that was being borne toward her swung so helplessly, as though they were boneless ; the head, too, swayed from side to side. Yet these ap- pearances, suggestive as they were of tragedy, did not form the influence which caused Ann's throat to tighten and her pulse to speed. She heard voices and foot- steps as other men ran up. She drew back into the shadows of the hall. 4 What you got, Bruce ? " one asked, in a tone of concern. " O, a small parcel of man meat," she heard the tall one explain casually, with something like amusement in his voice. "Who is it?" An answer was made, but the woman could not un- derstand. " Oh, him!" Disdain was in the voice, as though there were no longer cause for apprehension, as if the potential consequence of the situation had been dissi- pated by identification of the unconscious figure. io BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A Other arrivals, fresh voices; out under the light a dozen men were clustered about the tall fellow and his burden. " Where'd you find him? " one asked. " Out at th' edge of town in th' ditch. Abe, here," with a jerk of his head to indicate the sleek sorrel horse he led " found him. He acted so damned funny he made me get off to see what it was, an', sure enough, here was Yavapai's most enthusiastic drinker, sleepin' in th' ditch ! " Here, let me put him down on th' porch, there," elbowing his way through the knot about him. " He ain't much more man in pounds than he is in principle, but he weighs up considerable after packin' him all this way." The watching woman saw that his burden was a slight figure, short and slender, dressed roughly, with his clothing worn and torn and stained. " Why didn't you let Abe pack him? " a man asked, as the big cowboy, stooping gently, put the inert head and shoulders to the boards and slowly lowered the limp legs. He straightened, and, with a red handker- chief, whipped the dust from his shirt. Then, he hitched up his white goatskin chaps and looked into the face of his questioner and smiled. 41 Well, Tommy, Abe here ain't never had to carry a souse yet, an' I guess he won't have to so long as I'm around an' healthy. That right, Abe? " SOME MEN ii He reached out a hand and the sorrel, intelligent ears forward in inquiry, moved closer by a step to smell the fingers; then, allowed them to scratch the white patch on his nose. A chuckle of surprise greeted the man's remark. " Why, Bruce, to hear you talk anybody'd think that you close-herded your morals continual; that you was a 'Aid S'city ' wagon boss; that lips that touch liquor should never " " I ain't said nothin' to make you think that, Tommy Clary," the other replied, laughing at the upturned face of his challenger, who was short and pug-nosed and possessed of a mouth that refused to do anything but smile ; who was completely over-shadowed and rendered top-heavy by a hat of astonishing proportions. " I drink," he went on, " like th' rest of us damn fools, but I don't think it's smart to do it. I think it is pretty much all nonsense, an' I think that when you drink you ought to associate with drinkin' folks an* let th' ones who have better sense alone. " That's why I never ride Abe to town when I figure I'm goin' to be doin' any hellin' around; that's why, if I have got drunk by mistake when I had him here, I've slept in town instead of goin' home. Abe, you see, Tommy, has got a good deal of white man in him for a horse. He'd carry me all right if I was drunk, if I asked him to; but I won't, because he's such a good horse that he ought to always have a mighty good man 12 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A on his middle. When a man's drunk, he ain't good . . . for nothin'. Like this here " with a con- temptuous movement of one booted foot to indicate the huddle of a figure which lay in the lamplight. " No, I don't make no claim to bein' a saint, Tommy. Good Lord, hombre, do you think, if I thought I was right decent all th' time, all through, I'd ever be seen swapping lies with any such ugly outcast as you are? " The others laughed again at that, and the tall man removed his hat to wipe the moisture from his fore- head. Ann, watching from the shadows, lips pressed to- gether, heart on a rampage from a fear that was at once groundless and natural, saw his fine profile against the lamp, as he laughed good-naturedly at the man he had jibed. His head was flung back boyishly, but about its poise, its lines, the way it was set on his sturdy neck, was an indication of superb strength, a fine mettle. His hair fell backward from the brow. It tended to- ward waviness and was dry and light in texture as well as in color, for the rays of the light were scattered and diffused as they shot through it. He was in- credibly tall in his high-heeled riding boots, but his breadth was in proportion. The movements of his long arms, his finely moulded shoulders, his whole lithe torso were well measured, splendidly balanced, of that natural grace and assurance which marks the inherent leadership born in individuals. His voice went well SOME MEN 13 with the rest of him, for it was smooth and deep and filled with capabilities of expression. " Well, if you think all us drunkards are such buz- zard fodder, what are you packin' this around with you for? " Clary asked, after the laughter had subsided. The cowman looked down thoughtfully a moment and his face grew serious. He shook his head soberly. ;< This fellow's a cripple, boys; that's all. Just a cripple," he explained. " Cripple I He's about th' liveliest, most cantanker- ous, trouble-maker this country has had to watch since Bill Williams named his mountain ! " a man in the group scoffed. ' Yes, I know. His legs ain't broke or deformed ; he can use both arms; his fool tongue has made us all pretty hot since we've knowed him. But he ain't right up here, in his head, boys. He's crippled there. There ain't no reason for a human bein' gettin' to be so nasty as he's got to be. It ain't natural. It's th' booze, Tommy, th' booze that's crippled him. He ought to be kept away from it until he's had a chance, but nobody's took enough interest in him or th' good of th' town to tend to that. We've just locked him up when he got too drunk an' turned him loose to hell some more when he was half-way sober. He ain't had nobody to look out for him, when he's needed it more 'n anything else. H BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A " I ain't blamin' nobody. Don't know as I'd looked out for him myself, if he hadn't looked so helpless, there 'n th' ditch. Gosh, any one of you'd take in a dog with a busted leg an' try to fix him up ; if he bit at you an' scratched and tried to fight, you'd only feel sorrier for him. This feller . . . he's kind of a dog, too. Maybe it'd be a good investment for us to look after him a little an' see if we can't set him on his feet. We've tried makin' an example of him ; now let's try to treat him like any of you'd treat me, if I was down an' out." He looked down upon the figure on the porch ; in his voice had been a fine humane quality that set the muscles of the listening woman's throat contracting. " Say, Bruce, he's bleedin' ! " On the man's announced discovery the group outside again became compact about the unconscious man and the tall cowboy squatted beside him quickly. " Get back out of th' light, boys," he said, quietly, and the curious men moved. " Hum . . . I'm a sheepherder, if somebody ain't nicked him in th' arm, boys! I'll be " Say, he must of laid on that arm an' stopped th' blood. It's clotted. . . . Oh, damn! It's bleedin' worse. Say, I'll have to get him inside where we can have him fixed up before that breaks open again. Wonder how much he's bled " He rose and moved to the door, pulled open the screen quickly. He made one step across the threshold SOME MEN 15 and then paused between strides, for before him in the darkness of the hallway a woman's face stood out like a cameo. It was white, made whiter by the few feeble rays of the light outside that struggled into the entry; the eyes were great, dark splotches, the lips were parted; one hand was at the chin and about the whole suggested posture of her body was a tensity, an anxiety, a helplessness that startled the man . . . that, and her beauty. For a moment they stood so, face to face, the one in silhouette, the other in black and white ; the one surprised, only, but the other shrinking in terror. " I . . . he. . . ." Then, giving no articulate coherence to the idea that was in his mind, Bruce Bayard stepped through the doorway to his left and entered the office, as though he had not seen the woman at all. He looked about, returned to the hallway, gazed almost absently at the stairway where he had seen that troubled countenance and which was now a blank, hesitated a moment and stepped out to join the others. " I heard somebody shoot, when we was comin' up from th' depot," someone was saying when Bayard broke in: " Nobody here. Anybody seen Charley? " " Here's his dad," Clary said, as a fat, wheezing man made his way importantly into the group. " Uncle, I want to get a room," Bayard said, " to take this here man to so I can wash him up an' look after his arm. He's been shot. I passed Doc 16 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A on th' road goin' out when I come in, so I'll just try my hand as a veterinary myself. Can you fix me up? " "All right! Right here! Bring him in. I've got a room; a nice dollar room," the man wheezed as he stumped into the building. " No disturbance, mind, but I've got a room . . . dollar room . . ." and the screen door slapped shut behind him. " He won't die on you, Bruce," the man with a mous- tache said, straightening, after inspecting the ragged, dirt-filled wound, and laughing lightly. " It just stung him a little. There's a lot of disorderly conduct left in him yet, an' it's a wonder he ain't been ventilated be- fore." * Yeah. . . . Well, we'll take him up and look him over," Bayard said, his face serious, and stooped to gather the burden in his arms. l< Want any help, Bruce ? " Tommy asked. " Not on this trip, thanks. A good sleep and a stiff cussin' out '11 help a little I guess. Mebbe he's learnt a lesson an' he may go back home an' behave himself." He shouldered open the screen door and, led by the wheezing landlord who carried a lamp at a reckless angle in his trembling hand, started clumping up the re- sounding stairway, while the group that had been about the lamp-post drifted off into the darkness. Only the sorrel horse, Abe, remained, bridle-reins down, one hip slumped, great, intelligent eyes watching occa- sional figures that passed, ears moving to catch the scat- tered sounds that went up toward the Arizona stars. CHAPTER III THE LODGER NEXT DOOR " Now, this is fine, Uncle," Bayard said, as he stood erect and surveyed the lax body he had deposited on the bed. His great height made the low, tiny room seem lower, smaller, and in the pale lamplight the fat hotel proprietor peered up into his face with little greedy green eyes, chewing briskly with his front teeth, scratch- the fringe of red whiskers speculatively. " Well, Bayard, you're all right," he blurted out, huskily, as if he had reached that decision only after lengthy debate. ' Th' room 's a dollar, but I'll wait till mornin' as a favor to you. I wouldn't trust most cowboys, but your reputation's gild-edged, fine ! " ' Thanks! Seein' nobody's around to overhear, I'll take a chance an' return th' compliment." And as the other, turning in the doorway, looked back to determine, if he could, the meaning of that last remark, Bayard stooped and gingerly lifted the wounded forearm from which the sleeve had been rolled back. 'What a lookin' human bein'l" he whispered slowly, a moment later, shaking his head and letting 17 ;i8 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A his whole-hearted disgust find expression in deep lines about his mouth, as he scanned the bloated, bruised, muddied face below him. " You've got just about as low down, Pardner, as anybody can get! Lord, that face of yourn would scare the Devil himself . . . even if it is his own work! " He kicked out of his chaps, flung off jumper and vest, rolled up his sleeves and, turning to the rickety washstand, sloshed water into the bowl from the cracked pitcher and vigorously applied lather to his hands and forearms. From the next room came the sounds of a person moving; the creak of a board, the tinkle of a glass, even the low brushing of a garment being hung on a hook, for the partitions were of inch boards covered only by wallpaper. " Th' privacies of this here establishment ain't ex- actly perfect, are they?" the man asked, raising his voice and smiling. " I've got a friend here who needs to have things done for him an' he may wake up and object, but it ain't nothin' serious so don't let us dis- turb your sleep any more'n you can help," he added and paused, stooped over, to listen for an answer. None came; no further sound either; the person in the other room seemed to be listening, too. Bayard, after the interval of silence, shrugged his shoulders, filled the bowl with clean water, placed it on a wooden- bottomed chair which held the lamp and sat down on the edge of the bed with soap and towels beside him. " I'll wash out this here nick, first," he muttered. THE LODGER NEXT DOOR ig " Then, I'll scrub up that ugly mug . . . Ughl " He made a wry face as he again looked at the distorted, smeared countenance. He bathed the forearm carefully, then centered his attention on the wound. "Ho-ho! Went deeper than I thought. . . . Full of dirt an' ... clot . . . an'. . . ." He stopped his muttering and left off his bathing of the wound suddenly and clamped his fingers above the gash, for, as he had washed away the clotted blood and caked dirt, a thin, sharp stream of blood had spurted out from the ragged tear in the flesh. "He got an artery, did he? Huh! When you dropped, you laid on that arm or you'd be eatin' break- fast to-morrow in a place considerable hotter than Arizona," Bayard muttered. He looked about him calculatingly as though wonder- ing what was best to do first, and the man on the bed stirred uneasily. "Lay still, you!" The other moaned and squirmed and threatened to jerk his arm free. * You don't amount to much, Pardner, but I can't hold you still and play doctor by myself if ... " Say, friend," raising his voice. " You, in th' next room; would you mind comin' in here a minute? I've took down more rope than I handle right easy." He turned his head to listen better and through the thin partition came again the sound of movements. 20 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A Feet stepped quickly, lightly, on the noisy floor; a chair was shoved from one place to another, a door opened, the feet came down the hall, the door of the room in which Bayard waited swung back . . . and Ann Lytton stood in the doorway. For a moment their eyes held on one another. The woman's lips were compressed, her nostrils dilated in excitement, her blue eyes wide and apprehensive) al- though she struggled to repress all these evidences of emotional disturbance. The man's jaw slacked in astonishment, then tightened, and his chest swelled with a deep breath of pleased surprise; he experienced a strange tremor and subconsciously he told himself that she was as rare looking as he had thought she must be from the impression he had received down in the dark hallway. " Why . . . why, I didn't think you ... it might be a lady in there, Miss," he said in slow astonishment. " I thought it was a man . . . because ladies don't often get in here. I ... this is a nasty mess an' maybe you better not tackle it ... if ... if you could call somebody to help me . . . Nora, th' girl downstairs, would come, Miss " " I can help you," she said, and a flush rushed into her cheeks, which at once relieved and accentuated their pallor. It was as though he had accused her of a weakness that she resented. Bayard looked her over through a silent moment; then moved one foot quickly and, eyes still holding her THE LODGER NEXT DOOR 21 gaze, his left hand groped for a towel, found it, shook it out and spread it over the face of the drunken, wounded man he had called her to help him tend. " He ain't a beauty, Miss," he explained, relieved that the countenance was concealed from her. " I hate to look at him myself an' I'd hate to have a girl . . . like you have to look at him . . . I'm sure he would, too," as though he did not actually mean the last. The woman moved to his side then, eyes held on the wound by evident effort. It was as if she were im- pelled to turn her gaze to that covered face and fought against the desire with all the will she could muster. " You see, Miss, this artery's been cut an' I've got my thumb shut down on it here," he indicated. " This gent got shot up a trifle to-night an' we you an' me have got to fix him up. I can't do it alone because he's bleedin' an' he's lost more than's healthy for him now. " It sure is fine of you to come, Miss." He looked at her curiously and steadily yet without giving offense. It was as though he had character- ized this woman for himself, was thinking more about the effect on her of the work they were to do than of that work itself. He was interested in this newcomer; he wanted to know about her. That was obvious. He watched her as he talked and his manner made her know that he was very gentle, very considerate of her peace of mind, in spite of the quality about him which she could not understand, which was his desire to know 22 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A how she would act in this unfamiliar, trying situation. " Now, you take that towel and roll it up," he was saying. " Yes, th' long way. . . . Then, bring that stick they use to prop up th' window " " It's a tourniquet you want," she broke in. He looked up at her again. ;< Tourniquet. . . . Tourniquet," he repeated, to fix the new word in his mind. ' Yes, that's what I want : to shut off the blood." She folded the towel and brought the stick. From her audible breathing Bayard knew that she was excited, but, otherwise, she had ceased to give indication of the fact. " Loop it around and tie a knot," he said. " Is that right? " she asked, in a voice that was too calm, too well controlled for the circumstances. " Yes, it's all right, Miss. How about you? " a twinkle in his eye. " If this ... if you don't think you can stand it to fuss with him " he began, but she cut him off with a look that contained something of a quality of reassurance, but which was more obviously a rebuff. " I said I could help you. Why do you keep doubt- ing me ? " " I don't; I'm tryin' to be careful of your feelings," averting his eyes that she might not see the quick fire of appreciation in them. " Will you tighten it with that stick, now, Miss? " The man on the bed breathed loudly, uncouthly, with 23 now and then a short, sharp moan. The sour smell of stale liquor was about him; the arm and hand that had been washed were the only clean parts of his body. " Now you twist it," Bayard said, when she was ready, although he could have done it easily with his free hand. She grasped the stick with determination and, as she turned it quickly to take up the slack in the loop, Bayard leaned back, part of his weight on the elbow which kept the legs of the unconscious man from threshing too violently as the contrivance shut down on his arm. His attention, however, was not for their patient; it was centered on the girl's hands as they manipulated stick and towel. They were the smallest hands, the trimmest, he had ever seen. The fingers were incred- ibly fine-boned and about them was a nicety, a finish, that was beyond his experience; yet, they were not weak hands; rather, competent looking. He watched their quick play, the spring of the tendons in her white wrist and, with a new interest, detected a smooth white mark about the third finger of her left hand where a ring had been. He looked into her intent face again, wondering what sort of ring that had been and why it was no longer there ; then, forgot all about it in seeing the tight line of her mouth and finding delight in the splendid curve of her chin. " You hate to do it," he thought, " but you're goin' to see it through! " 24 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A "There!" she said, under her breath. "Is that tight enough? " He looked quickly away from her face to the wound and released the pressure of his thumb. " Not quite. It oozes a little." He liked the manner in which she moved her head forward to indicate her resolve, when she forced the cloth even more tightly about the arm. The injured man cried aloud and sought to roll over, and Bayard saw the girl's mouth set in a firmer cast, but in other ways she bore herself as if there had been no sound or movement to frighten or disturb her. " That'll do," he told her, watching the result of the pressure carefully. " Now, would you tear that pillow slip into strips wide enough for a bandage?" She shook the pillow from the casing. " That'll tickle Uncle, downstairs," he added. " It's worth two bits, but he can charge me a dollar for it." She did not appear to hear this last; just went on tearing strips with hands that trembled ever so little and his gray eyes lighted with a peculiar fire. Weak- ness was present in her, the weakness of inexperience, brought on by the sight of blood, the presence of a strange man of a strange type, the proximity of that muttering, filthy figure with his face shrouded from her; but, behind that weakness, was an inherent strength, a determination that made her struggle with all her faculties to hide its evidences ; and that courage THE LODGER NEXT DOOR 25 was the quality which Bayard had sought in her. Only, he could not then appreciate its true proportions. " Is this enough? " she asked. " Plenty. I can manage alone now, if " " But I might as well help you through with this!" She had again detected his doubt of her, discerned his motive in giving her an avenue of graceful escape from the unpleasant situation; she thought that he still mis- trusted her stamina and her stubborn refusal to give way to any weakness set the words on her lips to cut him short. " Well, if you want to," he said, soberly, " you can keep this thing tight, while I wash this hole out an' bind it up. ... I wouldn't look at it, if I was you; you ain't used to it, you know." He looked her in the eye, on that last advice, for a moment. She understood fully and, as she took the stick in her hand to keep the blood flow checked, she averted her face. For a breath he looked at the stray little hairs about the depression at the back of her neck. Then, to his work. He was gentle in cleansing the wound, but he could not touch the raw flesh without giving pain and still accomplish his end, and, on the first pressure of his fingers, the man writhed and twitched and jerked at the arm, drawing his knees up spasmodically. " I'll have to set on him, Miss," Bayard said. 26 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A He did so, straddling the man's thighs and leaning to the right, close against the woman's stooping body. He grasped the cold wrist with one hand and washed the jagged hurt quickly, thoroughly. The man he held protested inarticulately and struggled to move about. Once, the towel that hid his face was thrown off and Bayard replaced it, glad that the girl's back had been turned so she did not see. It was the crude, cruel surgery of the frontier and once, towards the end, the tortured man lifted his thick, scarcely human voice in a cursing phrase and Bayard, glancing sharply at the woman, murmured, " I beg your pardon, Miss . . . for him." ; * That's not necessary," she answered, and her whisper was thin, weak. ' You ain't goin' to faint, are you ? " he asked, in quick apprehension, ceasing his work to peer anxiously at her. "No. . . . No, but hurry, please ; it is very unpleas- ant." He nodded his head in assent and began the bandag- ing, hurriedly. He made the strips of cloth secure with deft movements and then said, "There, Miss, it's all over!" She straightened and turned from him and put a hand quickly to her forehead, drew a deep breath as of exasperation and moved an uncertain step or two to- ward the door. " All right," she said, with a half laugh, stopping and THE LODGER NEXT DOOR 27 turning about. " I was afraid . . . you see ! I'm not accustomed. . . ." Bayard removed his weight from the other man and sat again on the edge of the bed. " Lots of men, men out here in this country, would have felt the same way . . . only worse," he said, re- assuringly. " It takes lots of sand to fuss with blood an' man meat until you get used to it. You've got the sand, Miss, an' I sure appreciate what you've done. He will, too." She turned to meet his gaze and he saw that her face was colorless and strained, but she smiled and asked, " I couldn't do less, could I ? " " You couldn't do more," he said, staring hard at her, giving the impression that his mind was not on what he was saying. " More for me or more for ... a carcass like that." A tremor of anger was in his voice, and resentment showed in his expression as he turned to look at the covered face of the heavily breath- ing man. " It's a shame, Miss, to make your kind come under the same roof with a ... a thing like he is!" After a moment she asked, " Is he so very bad, then? " " As bad as men get . . . and the best of us are awful sinful." " Do you ... do you think men ever get so bad that anyone can be hurt by being ... by coming under the same roof with them? " 28 He shook his head and smiled again. " I'd say yes, if it wasn't that I'd picked this hombre out of th' ditch an' brought him here an' played doctor to-night. You never can tell what you'll believe until the time comes when you've got to believe something." A silent interval, which the woman broke. " Is there anything else I can do for you now? " He knew that she wanted to go, yet some quality about her made him suspect that she wanted to stay on, too. " No, Miss, nothin' ..." he answered. " I've got to go tend to my horse. He's such a baby that he won't leave his tracks for anybody so long's he knows I'm here, so I can't send anybody else to look after him. But you've done enough. I'll wait a while till somebody else comes along to watch " " No, no ! let me stay here . . . with him." "But" " I came here to help you. Won't you let me go through with it? " He thought again that it was her pride forcing her on; he could not know that the prompting in her was something far deeper, something tragic. He said: " Why if you want to, of course you can. I won't be gone but a minute. I've let up on this pressure a little; we'll keep letting up on it gradual . . . I've done this thing before. He's got to be watched, though, so he don't pull the bandages off and start her bleeding again." THE LODGER NEXT DOOR 29 The woman seated herself on the chair as he turned to go. " It'll only be a minute," he assured her again, hesi- tating in the doorway. " I wouldn't go at all, only, when my horse is the kind of a pal he is, I can't let him go hungry. See? " " I see," she said, but her tone implied that she did not, that such devotion between man and beast was quite incomprehensible ... or else that she had given his word no heed at all, had only waited impa- tiently for him to go. He strode down the hallway and she marked his every footfall, heard him go stumping and ringing down the stairs two at a time, heard him leave the porch and held her breath to hear him say, " Well, Old Timer, I didn't plan to be so long." Then, the sound of shod hoofs crossing the street at a gallop. She closed her eyes and let her head bow slowly and whispered, " Oh, God . . . there is manhood left! " She sat so a long interval, suffering stamped on her fine forehead, indicated in the pink and white knots formed from her clenched hands. Then, her lips partly opened and she lifted her head and looked long at the covered face of the man on the bed. Her breath was swift and shallow and her attitude that of one who nerves herself for an ordeal. Once, she looked down at the hand on the bed near her and 30 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A touched with her own the hardened, soiled fingers, then gave a shake to her head that was almost a shud- der, straightened in her chair and muttered aloud, " He said ... I had the sand. . . ." She leaned forward, stretched a hand to the towel which covered the man's face, hesitated just an instant, caught her breath, lifted the shrouding cloth and gave a long, shivering sigh as she sat back in her chair. At that moment Bruce Bayard in the corral across the street, pulled the bridle over his sorrel's ears. He slung the contrivance on one arm and held the animal's hot, white muzzle in his hands a moment. He squeezed so tightly that the horse shook his head and lifted a fore foot in protest and then, alarmed, backed quickly away. "... I didn't intend it, Abe," the man muttered. "... I was thinkin' about somethin' else." CHAPTER IV A REVELATION When Bayard returned to the Manzanita House, he ran up the stairs with an eagerness that was not in the least inspired by a desire to return to his watching over the man he had chosen to succor. He strode down the hallway and into the room with his keen anticipa- tion thinly disguised by a sham concern. And within the doorway he halted abruptly, for the woman who had'helped him, whose presence there had brought him back from his horse on a run, sat at the bedside with her hands limp in her lap and about her bearing an air that quite staggered him. Her face was as nearly ex- pressionless as a human countenance can become. It was as if something had occurred which had taken from her all emotion, all ability to respond to any mental or sensory influence. For the moment, she was crushed, and so completely that even her reflexes did not react to the horror of the revelation. She did not look at Bayard, did not move; she might have been without the sense of sight or hearing; she did not even breathe perceptibly; just sat there with a fixity that frightened him. 31 32 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A "Why, Miss!" he cried in confused alarm. "I ... I wouldn't left you " She roused on his cry and shook her head, and he thought she wanted him to stop, so he stood there through an awkward moment, waiting for her to say more. " Course, it was too much for you ! " he concluded aloud, self-reproachfully, when she did not speak. " You're tired; this . . . this takin' care of this booze- soaked carcass was too much to ask of you. I " " Don't," she said, in a dry, flat voice, looking up at him appealingly, mastering her voice with a heroic effort. " Don't, please ! This . . . This booze- soaked . . . carcass . . . " He is my husband." The words with which she ended came in a listless whisper; she made no further sound, and the hissing of Bayard's breath, as it slipped out between his teeth, was audible. All that he had said against that other man came back to him, all the epithets he had used, all the pains he had taken to impress on this woman, his wife, a sense of the utter degradation, the vileness, of Ned Lytton. For the instant, he was filled with regret because of his rash speech; the next, he was overwhelmed by realizing that all he had said was true and that he had been justified in saying those things of this woman's husband. The thought unpoised him. " I didn't think you was married," he said, slowly, A REVELATION 33 distinctly, his voice unsteady, scarcely conscious of the fact that he was putting what transpired in his mind into words. " Especially ... to a thing like that! " The gesture of his one arm which indicated the prostrate figure was eloquent of the contempt he felt and the posture of his body, bent forward from his hips, was indication of his sincerity. He was so in- tense emotionally that he could not realize that his last words might lash the suffering woman cruelly. The thought was in him, so strong, so revolting, that it had to come out. He could not have restrained it had he consciously appreciated the hurt that its expression would give the woman. She stared up at him, her numb brain wondering clumsily at the storm indicated in his eyes, about his mouth, and they held so a moment before she sat back in her chair, weakly, one wrist against her forehead. " Here v come over by the window . . . never mind him," he said, almost roughly, stepping to her side, grasping her arm and shaking it. Ten minutes before the careful watching of that un- conscious man had been the one important thing of the night, but now it was an inconsequential affair, a bother. Ten minutes before his interest in the woman had been a light, transient fancy; now he was more deeply con- cerned with her trouble than he ever had been with an affair of his own. He lifted the bandaged arm and placed a pillow beneath it, almost carelessly; then closed the door. He turned about and looked at Ann Lytton, 34 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A who had gone to stand by the window, her back to him, face in her hands. He walked across and halted, towering over her, looking helplessly down at the back of her bowed head. His arms were limp at his sides, until she swayed as though she would fall, and, then, he reached out to support her, grasping her shoulders gently with his big palms; when she steadied, he left his hands so, lifting the right one awkwardly to stroke her shivering shoulder. They stood silent many minutes, the man suffering with the woman, suffering largely because of his inability to bear a portion of her grief. After a time, he forced her about with his hands and, when she had turned halfway around, she lifted her face to look into his. She blinked and strained her eyes open and laughed mirthlessly, then was silent, with the knuckles of her fist pressed tightly against her mouth. " I am so glad ... so glad that it was you, . . .'* she said, huskily, after a wait in which she mastered herself, the thought that was uppermost in her mind finding the first expression. " I heard you say, down there, that he was a cripple and that . . . that's what he is ... what I thought. You . . . you under- stand, don't you ? A woman in my place has to think something like that ! " in unconscious confession to a weakness. " I heard you say he was a cripple . . . the man you were carrying . . . and I thought it must be Ned, because I've had to think that, too. You understand? Don't you? " A REVELATION 35 She looked into his eyes with the directness of a pleading child and, gripping her shoulders, he nodded. " I think I understand, ma'am. I ... and I hope you can forget all th' mean things I've said about him to-night. I " " And when you called me in here," she interrupted, heedless of his attempt at apology, " I was afraid at first, because something told me it was he. I had come all the way from Maine to see him; to find out about him, and I didn't want to blind myself after that. I wanted to know . . . the worst." " You have, ma'am," he said, grimly, and took his hands from her shoulders and turned away. '* I was afraid it was Ned from the very first, but out there, with those other men around, I ... couldn't make myself look at him. And after that the suspense was horrible. I was glad when you called me to help you because that made me face it ... and even know- ing what I know now is better in some ways than un- certainty. I ... I might have dodged, anyhow, if you hadn't made me feel you were trying to find out how far I would go ... what I would do. Your doubting me made me doubt myself and that . . . that drove me on. " It took a lot of courage to look at his ... face. But I had to know. I had to; I'd come all this way to know." She hesitated, staring absently, and Bayard waited in silence for her to go on. 36 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A 44 It seemed quite natural to hear those men talking about him the way they did, swearing at him and laugh- ing. . . . And then to hear someone protecting him because he is weak," with a brave effort at a smile. 44 That's what people in the East, his own people, even, have done; and I . . . I had to stand up for him when everything, even he, was against me. . . . 14 I'd hoped that out here, at the mine, he'd be dif- ferent, that he'd behave, that people would come to re- spect and like him. I'd hoped for that right up to the time I saw you coming across the street with him. I felt it must be he. I hadn't heard from him in months, not a line. That's why I came out here. And I guess that in my heart I'd expected to find him like that. The uncertainty, that was the worst. . . . " Peculiar, isn't it, why I should have been uncer- tain ? I should have admitted what I felt intuitively, but I always have hoped, I always will hope that he'll come through it sometime. That hope has kept me from telling myself that it must be the same with him out here as it was back there; that's why I fooled myself until I saw you . . . with him. 44 And I'm so glad it happened to be you who picked him up. You understand, you " Emotion choked off her words. Bayard walked from her, returned to the bedside and stared down at the inert figure there. He was in a tumult. The contrast between this man and wife was too dreadful to be comprehended in calm. Lytton was A REVELATION 37 the lowest human being he had ever known, degener- ated to an organism that lived solely to satiate its most unworthy appetites. Ann, the woman crying yon- der, was quite the most beautiful creature on whom he had ever looked and, though he had seen her for the first time no more than an hour before, her (harm had touched every masculine instinct, had gripped him with that urge which draws the sexes one to another . . . yet, he was not conscious of it. She was, in his eyes, so wonderful, so removed from his world, that he could not presume to recognize her attraction as for himself. She was a distant, unattainable creature, one to serve, to admire; perhaps, sometime, to worship reverently and that was the fact which set the blood congesting in his head when he looked down at the waster for whom she had traveled across a continent that she might suffer like this. Lytton was attainable, was comprehensible, and Bayard was urged to make him suffer in atonement for the wretchedness he had brought to this woman who loved him. . . . Who. . . . loved him? The man turned to look at Ann again, his lower lip caught speculatively between his thumb and fore- finger. " Now, I suppose the thing to do is to plan, to make some sort of arrangements . . . now that I have found him," she said in a strained voice, bracing her shoul- ders, lifting a hand to brush a lock of hair back from her white, blue-veined temple. 38 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A She smiled courageously at the cowboy who ap- proached her diffidently. " I came out here to find out what was going on, to help him if he were succeeding, to ... help him if ... as I have found him." Her directness had returned and, as she spoke, she looked Bayard in the eye, steadily. ' Well, whatever I can do, ma'am, I'm anxious to do," he said, repressing himself that he might not give ground to the suspicion that he was forcing himself on her, though his first impulse was to take her affairs in hand and shield her from the trying circumstances which were bound to follow. " I can't do much to help you, but all I can do " " I don't think I could do anything without you," she said, simply, letting her gaze travel over his big frame. " It's so far away, out here, from anyone I know or the things I am accustomed to. It's . . . it's too wonderful, finding someone out here who under- stands Ned, when even his own people back home didn't. I wonder ... is it asking too much to ask you to help me plan? You know people and condi- tions. I don't." She made the request almost timidly, but he leaped at the opportunity and cried : " If I can help you, if I could be of use to you, I'd think it was th' finest thing that ever happened to me, ma'am. I've never been of much use to anybody but A REVELATION 39 myself. I ... I'd like to help you ! " His manner was so wholly boyish that she impulsively put out her hand to him. " You're kind to me, so. . . ." She lost the rest of the sentence because of the fierce- ness with which he grasped her proffered hand and for a moment his gray eyes burned into hers with confusing intensity. Then he straightened and looked away with an inarticulate word. ;< Well, what do you want to do? " he asked, step- ping to one side to bring a chair for her. " I don't know; he's in a frightful . . . I've never seen him as bad as this," her voice threatening to break. " An' he'll be that way so long as he's near that I " He held his hand up in a gesture that impelled her to listen as the notes from the saloon piano drifted into the little room. " He's pretty far gone, ma'am, your husband. He ain't got a whole lot of strength, an' it takes strength to show will power. We might keep him away from drinkin' by watching him all the time, but that wouldn't do much good; that wouldn't be a cure; it would only be delay, and wasting our time and foolin' ourselves. He'd ought to be took away from it, a long ways away from it." " That's what I've thought. Couldn't I take him out to the mine " 40 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A " His mine is most forty miles from here, ma'am." " So much the better, isn't it? We'd be away from all this. I could keep him there, I know." Bayard regarded her critically until her eyes fell before his. " You might keep him there, and you might not. I judge you didn't have much control over him in th' East. You didn't seem to have a great deal of in- fluence with him by letter," gently, very kindly, yet impressively. "If you got out in camp all alone with him, livin' a life that's new to you, you might not make good there. See what I mean? You'd be all alone, cause the mine's abandoned." She started at that. " There'd be nobody to help you if he got crazy wild like he'll sure get before he comes through. You " " You don't think I'm up to it? Is that it? " she interrupted. He looked closely at her before he answered. " Ma'am, if a woman like you can't keep a man straight by just lovin' him," with a curious flatness in his voice " you can't do it no way, can you? " She sat silent, and he continued to question her with his gaze. " I judge you've tried that way, from what you've told me. You've been pretty faithful on the job. You . . . you do love him yet, don't you? " he asked, and she looked up with a catch of her breath. " I do," dropping her eyes quickly. The man paced the length of the room and back A REVELATION 41 again as though this confession had altered the case and presented another factor for his consideration. But, when he stopped before her, he only said: " You can't leave him in town ; you can't take him to his mine. There ain't any place away from town I know of where they'd want to be bothered with a sick man," he explained, gravely, evading an expression of the community's attitude toward Lytton. " I might take him to my place. I'm only eight miles out west. I could look after him there, cause there ain't much press of work right now an' " " But I would go with him, too, of course," she said. " It's awfully kind of you to offer . . ." In a flash the picture of this woman and that ruin of manhood together in his house came before Bayard and, again, he realized the tragedy in their contrast. He saw himself watching them, hearing their talk, see- ing the woman make love to her debauched husband, perhaps, in an effort to strengthen him; he felt his wrath warm at thought of that girl's devotion and loyalty wasting itself so, and a sudden, alarming dis- trust of his own patience, his ability to remain a dis- interested neutral, arose. "Do you think he better know you're here?" he asked, inspired, and turned on her quickly. " Why, why not? " in surprise. '* It would sure stir him up, ma'am. He ain't even wrote to you, you say, so it would be a surprise for him to see you here. He's goin' to need all the nerve he's 42 got left, ma'am, 'specially right at first," his mind working swiftly to invent an excuse " Your hus- band's goin' to have the hardest fight he's ever had to make when he comes out of this. He's on the ragged edge of goin' loco from booze now; if he had somethin' more to worry him, he might. . . . " Besides, my outfit ain't a place for a woman. He can get along because he's lived like we do, but you couldn't. All I got is one room," hesitating as if he were embarrassed " and no comforts for ... a lady like you, ma'am." " But my place is with him I That's why I've come here." " Would your bein' with him help? Could you do anything but stir him up? " "Why of" " Have you ever been able to, ma'am? " She stopped, unable to get beyond that fact. " If you ain't, just remember that he's a hundred times worse than he was when you had your last try at him." She squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other. Her chin trembled sharply but she mastered the threat- ened breakdown. " What would you have me do? " she asked, weakly, and at that Bayard swung his arms slightly and smiled at her in relief. " Can't you stay right here in Yavapai and wait until the worst is over? It won't be so very long." A REVELATION 43 " I might. I'll try. If you think best ... I will, of course." u I'll come in town every time I get a chance and tell you about him," he promised, eagerly. " I'll . . . I'll be glad to," he hastened to add, with a drop in his voice that made her look at him. " Then, when he's better, when he's able to make it around the place on foot, when you think you can manage him, I s'pose you can go off to his mine, then." He ceased to smile and smote one hip in a manner that told of his sudden feeling of hopelessness. He walked toward the bed again and Ann watched him. As he passed the lamp on the chair, she saw the fine ripple of his thigh muscles under the close-fitting over- alls, saw with eyes that did not comprehend at first but which focused suddenly and then scrutinized the de- tail of his big frame with an odd uneasiness. He turned on her and said irrelevantly, as if they had discussed the idea at length, " I'm glad to do it for you, ma'am." He stared at her steadily, seeming absorbed by the thought of service to her, and the woman, after a mo- ment, removed her gaze from his. " It's so good of you ! " she said, and became silent when he gave her no heed. So it was arranged that Bayard should take Ned Lytton to his home to nurse and bring him back to bodily health and moral strength, if such accomplish- ments were possible. The hours passed until night had 44 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A ceased to age and day was young before the cowman deemed it wise to move the still sleeping Easterner. He chose to make the drive to his ranch in darkness, rather than wait for daylight when his going would at- tract attention and set minds speculating and tongues wagging. Until his departure, the three remained in the room where they had met, Ann much of the time sitting be- side her husband, staring before her, Bayard moving restlessly about in the shadows, watching her face and her movements, questioning her occasionally, growing more absorbed in studying the woman, until, during their last hour together, he was in a fever to be away from her where he could think straight of all that had happened since night came to Yavapai. Before he left he said : " Probably nobody will ask you questions, but if they do just say that your husband went away before day- light an' that I left after I washed his arm out. That'll be the truth an' what folks don't know won't hurt 'em . . . nor make you uncomfortable by havin' 'em watch you an' do a lot of unnecessary talkin'." From her window Ann watched Bayard emerge from the doorway below and place the limp figure of his burden on the seat of the buckboard he had secured for the trip home. In the starlight she saw him knot the bridle reins of his sorrel over the saddle horn, heard him say, " Go home, Abe," and saw the splendid beast stride swiftly off into the night alone. Then, the creak A REVELATION 45 of springs as he, too, mounted the wagon, his word to the horses, the sounds of wheels, and she thought she saw him turn his face toward her window as he rounded the corner of the hotel. The woman stood a moment in the cold draught of the wind that heralded dawn. It was as though some- thing horrible had gone out of her life and, at the same time, as if something wonderful had come in; only, while the one left the heaviness, the other brought with it a sweet sorrow. Half aloud she told herself that; then cried: " No, it can't be! Nothing has gone; nothing has come. Things are as they were ... or worse. . . ." Then, she turned to her hard, lumpy bed. CHAPTER V THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI Hours passed before Ann could sleep, and then her slumber was broken, her rest harried by weird dreams, her half-waking periods crammed with disturbing fan- tasies. When broad daylight came, she rose and drew down the shades of her window and after she had listened to th6 birds, to the sounds of the awakening town, to the passing of a train, rest came and until nearly noon she slept heavily. She came to herself possessed by a queer sense of unreality and it was moments before she could deter- mine its source. Then the events of the evening and night swept back to her intelligence and she closed her eyes, feeling sick and worn. Restlessness came upon her finally and she arose, dressed, went downstairs and forced herself to eat. Several others were in the dining room and two men sat with her at table. She was conscious that the talk, which had been loud, diminished when she entered and that those nearest her were evidently uncomfortable, embarrassed, glad to be through and gone. When Nora, the,waitress, took her order, Ann saw that the girl eyed her curiously, possibly sympatheti- 46 THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI 47 cally, and, while that quality could not help but rouse an appreciation in her, she shrank from the thought that this whole strange little town was eying her, won- dering about her, dissecting her as she suffered in its midst and even through her loyalty to her husband crept a hope that her true identity might remain secret. She left the table and started for the stairway, when the boy who had given her her room the night before came out of the office. He had not expected to see her. He stopped and flushed and stammered. " You . . . last night . . . you said you might . . . that is, do you want th' automobile, ma'am? " " I shan't want to go out to-day," Ann answered him, forcing her voice to steadiness. " I have changed my mind." Then, she went swiftly up the stairs. She knew that the youth knew at least a part of her reason for altering her plans. She knew that within the hour all Yavapai would know that she was not going to the Sunset mine because Ned Lytton was drunk and hurt, and she felt like crying aloud to relieve the distress in her heart. Her room was hot, its smallness was unbearable and, putting on her hat, she went down the stairs, out of the hotel and, looking up and down the main street, struck off to the left, for that direction seemed to offer the quickest exit from the town. Ann walked swiftly along the hard highway, head down until she had left the last buildings behind. 48 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A Then she lifted her chin and drew a deep breath of the fine mountain air and for the first time realized the immensity of the surrounding country. Sight of it brought a little gasp of wonder from her and she halted and turned slowly to look about. The town was set in the northern edge of a huge valley which appeared to head in abruptly rising hills not so far to the westward. But to the south and east- ward it swept on and out, astonishing in its apparent smoothness, its lavish colorings. Northward, its rise was more decided and not far from the town clumps of brush and scant low timber dotted the country, but out yonder there appeared to be no growth except the grass which, where it grew in rank patches, bowed be- fore the breeze and flashed silver under the brilliant sun. The distances were blue and inviting. She felt as though she would like to start walking and walk and walk, alone under that high blue sky. She strolled on after that and followed the wagon track an hour. Then, bodily weariness asserted it- self and she rested in the shade of a low oak scrub, twining grass stalks with nervous fingers. " I would have said that a country like this would have inspired anybody," she said aloud after a time. " But he's the same. He's small, he's small ! " Vindictiveness was about her and her tone was bitter. " Still," she thought, " it may not be too late. That other man ... is as big as this . . ." THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI 49 When she had rested and risen and gone a half mile back toward Yavapai, she repeated aloud: " As big as this. . . ." A great contrast that had been ! Bruce Bayard, big, strong, controlled, clean and thinking largely and clearly; Ned Lytton, little, weak, victim of his appe- tites, foul and selfish. She wondered rather vaguely about Bayard. Was he of that country? Was he the lover of some mountain girl? Was he, possibly, the husband? No, she recalled that he had said that he lived alone. . . . Well, so did she, for that matter ! Scraps of Bayard's talk the night before came back to her and she pondered over them, twisting their meanings, wondering if she had been justified in the relief his assurances gave her. There, alone in the daylight, they all seemed very incredible that she should have opened her heart, given her dearest confidences to that man. As she thought back through the hour, she became a trifle panicky, for she did not realize then that to have remained silent, to have bottled her emotions within herself longer would have been disastrous; she had reached Yavapai and the breaking point at the same hour, and, had not Bayard opportunely encount- ered her, she would have been forced to talk to the wheezing hotel proprietor or Nora, the waitress, or the first human being she met on the street . . . some- one, anyone ! Then, abruptly changing her course of thought, she reminded herself of the strangeness of the 50 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A truth that not once had it occurred to her to worry over the fact that her husband, in an unconscious condition, had been taken away, she knew not where, by this stranger. The faith she had felt in Bayard from the first prevailed. She faced the future with forebod- ings; about the present condition of Ned Lytton she did not dare think. A comforting factor was the con- viction that everything was being done for him that she could do and more . . . for she always had been helpless. She breathed in nervous exasperation at the idea that everything she saw, talked about, thought or expe- rienced came back to impress her further with the hope- lessness of the situation, then told herself that fretting would not help ; that she must do her all to make mat- ters over, that she must make good her purpose in com- ing to this new place. As she neared the town again, she saw the figure of a man approaching. He walked slowly, with head down, and his face was wholly shaded by the broad brim of his felt hat. His hands were behind his back and the aimlessness of his carriage gave evidence of deep thought. When the woman was about to pass him, he turned back toward town without looking up and it was the scuffing of her shoe that attracted him. He faced about quickly at the sound and stared hard at Ann. The stare was not offensive. She saw first his eyes, black and large and wonderfully kind; his hair was THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI 51 white ; his shaven lips gentle. Then she observed that he wore the clothing of a clergyman. His hand went to his hat band, after his first gaze at her, and he smiled. "How-do-you-do?" he said, with friendly confi- dence. Ann murmured a greeting. " I didn't know anyone was on the road. I was thinking rather fiercely, I guess." He started to walk beside her and Ann was glad, for he was of that type whose first appearance attracts by its promise of friendship. " I've been thinking, too," she answered. ' Think- ing, among other things what a wonderful country this is. I'm from the East, I suppose it is not necessary to say, and this is my first look at your valley." " Manzanita is a great old sweep of country ! " he exclaimed, looking out over it. " That valley is a good thing to look at when we think that human anxie- ties are mighty matters." He smiled, and Ann looked into his face with a new interest and said : " I should think that such an influence as this is would tend to lessen those anxieties; that it would tend to make the people who live near it big, as it is big." He looked away and shook his head slowly. " I hold that theory, too, sometimes ... in my most optimistic hours. But the more I see of the places in which men live, the closer I watch the way 52 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A we humans react to our physical environments, the less faith I have in it. Some of the biggest, rarest souls I know have developed in the meanest localities and, on the other hand, some of the worst culls of the species I've ever seen have been products of countries so big that they would inspire most men. Perhaps, though, the big men of the small places would have been bigger in a country like this; possibly, those who are found wanting out here would fall even shorter of what we expect of them if they were in less wonderful sur- roundings." He paused a moment and then continued : " It may be a myth, this tradition of the bigness of mountain men; or the impression may thrive because, out here, we are so few and so widely scattered that we are the only people who get a proper perspective on one an- other. That would be a comfortable thing to believe, wouldn't it? It would mean, possibly, that if we could only remove ourselves far enough from any community we would appreciate its virtues and be able to overlook its vices. I'd like to believe without qualification that a magnificent creation like this valley would lift us all to a higher level; but I can't. Some of your enthu- siastic young men who come out from the East and write books about the West would have it that these specimens of humanity which thrive in the mountains and deserts are all supermen, with only enough rascals sprinkled about to serve the purposes of their plots. That, of course, is a fallacy and it may be due to the THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI 53 surprising point of view which we find ourselves able to adopt when we are removed far enough by distance or tradition from other people. We have some splen- did men here, but the average man in the mountains won't measure up to where he will overshadow the average man of any other region ... I believe. We haven't so many opportunities, perhaps, to show our qualities of goodness and badness . . . although some of us can be downright nasty on occasion ! " He ended with an inflection which caused Ann to be- lieve that he was thinking of some specific case of mis- conduct; she felt herself flush quickly and became sud- denly fearful that he might refer directly to Ned. Last night she had poured her misery into a stranger's ears; to-day she could not bear the thought of further discussing her husband's life or condition; she shrank, even, from the idea of being associated with him in the minds of other people and in desperation she veered the subject by asking, " Is it populated much, the valley, I mean? " " Not yet. Cattle and horse and some sheep ranches are scattered about. One outfit will use up a lot of that country for grazing purposes, you know. Someday there'll be water and more people . . . and less bigness ! " He told her more of the valley, stopping now and then to indicate directions. " I came from over there yesterday," he said, facing about and pointing into the westward. " Had a 54 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A funeral beyond those hills. Stopped for dinner with a young friend of mine whose ranch is just beyond that swell yonder. . . . Fine boy; Bayard, Bruce Bayard." Ann wanted to ask him more about the rancher, but somehow she could not trust herself; she felt that her voice would be uncertain, for one thing. Some un- named shyness, too, held her from questioning him now. They stopped before the hotel and the man said: " My name is Weyl. I am the clergy of Yavapai. If you are to be here long, I'm sure Mrs. Weyl would like to see you. She is in Prescott for a week or two now." He put out his hand, and, as she clasped it, Ann said, scarcely thinking: " I am Ann Lytton. I arrived last night and may be here some time." She saw a quick look of pain come into his readable eyes and felt his finger tighten on hers. " Oh, yes ! " he said, in a manner that made her catch her breath. " I know. . . . Your brother, isn't it, the young miner? " At that the woman started and merely to escape fur- ther painful discussion, unthinkingly clouding her own identity, replied, " Ned, you mean . . . yes. . . ." " Well, if you're to be here long we will see you, surely. And if there's anything I can do for you, please ask it." THE CLERGY OF YAVAPAI 55 ' You're very kind," she said, as she turned from him. In her room she stood silent a moment, palms against her cheeks. Bayard's words came back to her : " I didn't think you was married . . . especially to a thing like that. . . ." And now this other man concluded that she could not be Ned's wife ! " I must be his wife ... his good wife ! " she said, with a stamp of her foot. " If he ever needed one . it's now. ." CHAPTER VI AT THE CIRCLE A Ned Lytton swam back to consciousness through painful half dreams. Light hurt his inflamed eyes; a horrible throbbing, originating in the center of his head, proceeded outward and seemed to threaten the solidity of his skull; his body was as though it had been mauled and banged about until no inch of flesh re- mained unbruised; his left forearm burned and stung fiendishly. He was in bed, undressed, he realized, and covered to the chin with clean smelling bedding. He moved his tortured head from side to side and mar- veled dully because it rested on a pillow. It was some time before he appreciated more. Then he saw that the fine sunlight which hurt his eyes streamed into the room from open windows and door, that it was flung back at him by whitewashed walls and scrubbed floor. He was in someone's house, cared for without his knowing. He moved stiffly on the thought. Someone had taken him in, someone had shown him a kindness, and, even in his semi-stupor, he wondered, because, for an incalculable period, he had been hating and hated. He did not know how Bayard had dragged a bed from another room and set it up in his kitchen that he 56 57 might better nurse his patient; did not know how the rancher had slept in his chair, and then but briefly, that he might not be tardy in attending to any need dur- ing the early morning hours; did not realize that the whole program of life in that comfortable ranch house had been altered that it might center about him. He did comprehend, though, that someone cared, that he was experiencing kindness. The sound of moving feet and the ring of spurs reached him ; then a boot was set on the threshold and Bruce Bayard stepped into the room. He was rub- bing his face with a towel and in the other hand was a razor and shaving brush. He had been scraping his chin in the shade of the ash tree that waved lazily in the warm breeze and tossed fantastically changing shadows through the far window. He looked up as he entered and encountered the gaze from these swol- len, inflamed eyes set in the bruised face of Ned Lytton. " Hello ! " he cried in surprise. " You're awake? " He put down the things he carried and crossed the room to the bedside. * Yes. . . . For God's sake, haven't you got a drink? 'V-t in a painful rasp. " I have; one; just one, for you," the other replied, left the room and came back with a tumbler a third filled with whiskey. He propped Lytton's head with one hand and held the glass to his misshapen lips, while fee guzzled greedily. 58 BRUCE OF THE CIRCLE A " More . . . another . . ." Lytton muttered a mo- ment after he was back on his pillow. " Seems to me you'd ought to know you've punished enough of this by now," the rancher said, standing with his hands on his hips and looking at the distorted ex- pression of suffering on Lytton's face. The sick man moved his head slightly in negation. Then, after a moment: " How'd I get here ? Who are you . . . any- how?" " Don't you know me? " The fevered eyes held on him, studying laboriously, and a smile struggled to bend the puffed lips. " Sure . . . you're the fellow, Nora's fellow . . . the girl in the hotel. I tried to ... and she said you'd beat me up. . . ." Something intended for a laugh sounded from his throat. The face of the man above him flushed slightly and the jaw muscles bulged under his cheek. "Where in hell am I? How'd I get here?" " I brought you here last night. You'd gone the limit in town. Somebody tried to shoot you an' got as far 's your arm. I brought you here to try to make somethin' like a man of you," ending with a hint of bitterness in spite of the whimsical smile with which he watched the effect of his last words. Lytton stirred. " Damned arm ! " he muttered, thickly, evidently conscious of only physical things. " I thought some- AT THE CIRCLE A 59 thing was wrong. It hurts like. . . . Say, whatever your name is, haven't you got another drink? " "My name is Bayard; you know me when you're sober. You're at my ranch, th' Circle A. You've had your drink for to-day." "May Bayard. Say, for God's sake, Bayard, you ain't going to let me. . . . Why, like one gentle- man to another, when your girl Nora, the waitress . . . said you'd knock me . . . keep away. I wasn't afraid. . . . Didn't know she was yours. ... I quit when I knew. . . . Treated you like a gentleman. Now why . . . don't you treat me like a gentle . . . give me a drink. I kept away from your wo " "Oh, shut up!" The ominous quality of the carelessly spoken, half laughing demand carried even to Lytton's confused understanding and he checked himself between syllables, staring upward into the countenance of the other. " In the first place, she's not my woman, in th' way you mean; if she was, I wouldn't stand here an' only tell you to shut your mouth when you talked about her like that. Sick as you are, I'd choke you, maybe. In th' second place, I'm no gentleman, I guess," with a smile breaking through into a laugh. " I'm just a kind of he-man an' I don't know much about th' way you gentlemen have dealin's with each other. " No more booze for you to-day. Get that in your head, if you can. I've got coffee for you now an* some soup."