Bruce of the Circle A Part 9

You're here an' you're goin' to stay a while whether you like it or not."

The cords of his neck stood out, giving the only evidence of the anger he felt. He gently forced the other man back into bed and covered him, breathing a trifle swiftly but offering no further protest for explanation.

"You keep me here by force, and then you prate about doing it for my own good!" Lytton panted. "You d.a.m.ned hypocrite; you.... It's on account of a woman, I know! She tried to get coy with me; she tried to make me think she was all yours when I followed her up. She told you about it and ... d.a.m.n you, you're afraid to let me go back to town!"--lifting himself on an elbow. "Come, Bayard, be frank with me: the thing between us is a woman, isn't it?"

The rancher eyed him a long time, almost absently. Then he walked slowly to the far corner of the room and moved a chair back against the wall with great pains; it was as though he were deciding something, something of great importance, something on which an immediate decision was gravely necessary. He faced about and walked slowly back to the bedside without speaking. His lips were shut and the one hand held behind him was clenched into a knot.

"Not now ... a woman," he said, as though he were uncertain himself.

"Not now ... but it may be, sometime...."

The other laughed and fell back into his pillows. Bayard looked down at him, eyes speculative beneath slightly drawn brows.

"And then," he added, "if it ever comes to that...."

He snapped his fingers and turned away abruptly, as if the thought brought a great uneasiness.

CHAPTER VII

TONGUES WAG

It was afternoon the next day that Bruce Bayard, swinging down from his horse, whipped the dust from his clothing with his hat and walked through the kitchen door of the Manzanita House.

"h.e.l.lo, Nora," he said to the girl who approached him. "Got a little clean water for a dirty cow puncher?"

He kicked out of his chaps and, dropping his hat to the floor, reached for the dipper. The girl, after a brief greeting, stood looking at him in perplexed speculation.

"What's wrong, Sister? You look mighty mournful this afternoon!"

"Bruce, what do you know about Ned Lytton?" she asked, cautiously, looking about to see that no one could overhear.

"Why? What do _you_ know about him?"

"Well, his wife's here; you took him upstairs with you that night dead drunk, you went home and he was gone before any of us was up. She ...

she's worried to fits about him. Everybody's tryin' to put her off his track, 'cause they feel sorry for her; they think he's probably gone back to his mine to sober up, but n.o.body wants to see her follow and find out what he is. n.o.body thinks she knows how he's been actin'.

"You know, they think that she's his sister. I don't."

He scooped water from the shallow basin and buried his face in the cupped hands that held it, rubbing and blowing furiously.

"That's what I come to town for, Nora, because I suspected she'd be worryin'." To himself he thought, "Sister! That helps!"

"You mean, you know where he is?"

"Yeah,"--nodding his head as he wiped his hands--"I took him home. I got him there in bed an' I come to town th' first chance I got to tell her he's gettin' along fine."

"That was swell of you, Bruce," she said, with an admiring smile.

He shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.

"Yes, it was!" she insisted. "To do it for her. She's th' sweetest thing ever come into this town, an' he's...."

She ended by making a wry face.

"You had a run-in with him, didn't you?" he asked, as if casually, and the girl looked at him sharply.

"How'd you know?"

"He's been kind of nutty an' said somethin' about it."

A pause.

"He come in here last week, Bruce, drunk. He made a grab for me an' said somethin' fresh an' he was so crazy, so awful lookin', that it scart me for a minute. I told him to keep away or you'd knock all th' poison out of him. He ... You see,"--apologetically--"I was scart an' I knew that was th' easiest way out--to tell him you'd get after him. You ... Th'

worst of 'em back up when they think you're likely to land on 'em."

He reached out and pinched her cheek, smiled and shook his head with mock seriousness.

"Lordy, Sister, you'd make me out a h.e.l.l-winder of a bad man, wouldn't you?"

"Not much! 'N awful good man, Bruce. That's what puts a crimp in 'em--your goodness!"

He flushed at that.

"Tryin' to josh me now, ain't you?" he laughed. "Well, josh away, but if any of 'em get fresh with you an' I'll ... I'll have th' sheriff on 'em!"--with a twinkle in his gray eyes. Then he sobered.

"I s'pose I'd better go up to her room now," he said, an uneasy manner coming over him. "She'll be glad to know he's gettin' along so well....

"So everybody thinks she's his sister, do they?"--with an effort to make his question sound casual and as an afterthought.

"Yes, they do. I'm th' only one who's guessed she's his wife an' I kept my mouth shut. Rest of 'em all swear she couldn't be, that's she's his sister, 'cause she ... well, she ain't th' kind that would marry a thing like that. I didn't say nothin'. I let 'em think as they do; but I know! No sister would worry th' way she does!"

"You're a wise gal," he said, "an' when you said she was th' sweetest thing that ever come to this town you wasn't so awful wrong."

He opened the door and closed it behind him.

In the middle of the kitchen floor the girl stood alone, motionless, her eyes glowing, pulses quickened. Then, the keen light went from her face; its expression became doggedly patient, as if she were confronted by a long, almost hopeless undertaking, and with a sigh she turned to her tasks.

Patient Nora! As Bayard had closed the door behind him unthinkingly, so had he closed the door to his heart against the girl. All her crude, timid advances had failed to impress him, so detached from response to s.e.x attraction was his interest in her. And for months she had waited ... waited, finding solace in the fact that no other woman stood closer to him; but now ... she feared an unnamed influence.

Ann Lytton, staring at the page of a book, heard his boots on the stair.

He mounted slowly, spurs ringing lightly with each step, and, when he was halfway up, she rose to her feet, walked to the door of her room and stood watching him come down the narrow, dark hallway, filling it with his splendid height, his unusual breadth.

They spoke no greeting. She merely backed into the room and Bruce followed with a show of slight embarra.s.sment. Yet his gaze was full on her, steady, searching, intent. Only when she stopped and held out her hand did his manner of looking at her change. Then, he smiled and met her firm grasp with a hand that was cold and which trembled ever so slightly.

"He ... is he ..." she began in an uncertain voice.