by Harold Titus
CHAPTER VI
AT THE CIRCLE A
Ned Lytton swam back to consciousness through painful half dreams. Lighthurt his inflamed eyes; a horrible throbbing, originating in the centerof his head, proceeded outward and seemed to threaten the solidity ofhis skull; his body was as though it had been mauled and banged aboutuntil no inch of flesh remained unbruised; his left forearm burned andstung fiendishly. He was in bed, undressed, he realized, and covered tothe chin with clean smelling bedding. He moved his tortured head fromside to side and marveled dully because it rested on a pillow.
It was some time before he appreciated more. Then he saw that the finesunlight which hurt his eyes streamed into the room from open windowsand door, that it was flung back at him by whitewashed walls andscrubbed floor. He was in someone's house, cared for without hisknowing. He moved stiffly on the thought. Someone had taken him in,someone had shown him a kindness, and, even in his semi-stupor, hewondered, because, for an incalculable period, he had been hating andhated.
He did not know how Bayard had dragged a bed from another room and setit up in his kitchen that he might better nurse his patient; did notknow how the rancher had slept in his chair, and then but briefly, thathe might not be tardy in attending to any need during the early morninghours; did not realize that the whole program of life in thatcomfortable ranch house had been altered that it might center about him.He did comprehend, though, that someone cared, that he was experiencingkindness.
The sound of moving feet and the ring of spurs reached him; then a bootwas set on the threshold and Bruce Bayard stepped into the room. He wasrubbing his face with a towel and in the other hand was a razor andshaving brush. He had been scraping his chin in the shade of the ashtree that waved lazily in the warm breeze and tossed fantasticallychanging shadows through the far window. He looked up as he entered andencountered the gaze from these swollen, inflamed eyes set in thebruised 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?"--in a painful rasp.
"I have; one; just one, for you," the other replied, left the room andcame back with a tumbler a third filled with whiskey. He proppedLytton's head with one hand and held the glass to his misshapen lips,while he guzzled greedily.
"More ... another ..." Lytton muttered a moment after he was back on hispillow.
"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 thedistorted expression 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 ... anyhow?"
"Don't you know me?"
The fevered eyes held on him, studying laboriously, and a smilestruggled to bend the puffed lips.
"Sure ... you're the fellow, Nora's fellow ... the girl in the hotel. Itried to ... and she said you'd beat me up...." Something intended for alaugh sounded from his throat. The face of the man above him flushedslightly and the jaw muscles bulged under his cheek. "Where in hell amI? How'd I get here?"
"I brought you here last night. You'd gone the limit in town. Somebodytried to shoot you an' got as far's your arm. I brought you here to tryto make somethin' like a man of you,"--ending with a hint of bitternessin spite of the whimsical smile with which he watched the effect of hislast words.
Lytton stirred.
"Damned arm!" he muttered, thickly, evidently conscious of only physicalthings. "I thought something was wrong. It hurts like.... Say, whateveryour 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 letme.... Why, like one gentleman to another, when your girl Nora, thewaitress ... 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 agentleman. Now why ... don't you treat me like a gentle ... give me adrink. I kept away from your wo--"
"Oh, shut up!"
The ominous quality of the carelessly spoken, half laughing demandcarried even to Lytton's confused understanding and he checked himselfbetween syllables, staring upward into the countenance of the other.
"In the first place, she's not my woman, in th' way you mean; if shewas, I wouldn't stand here an' only tell you to shut your mouth when youtalked about her like that. Sick as you are, I'd choke you, maybe. Inth' second place, I'm no gentleman, I guess,"--with a smile breakingthrough into a laugh. "I'm just a kind of he-man an' I don't know muchabout 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'vegot coffee for you now an' some soup."
He turned and walked to the stove in the far corner, kicked open thedraft and took a cup from the shelf above. All the while the bleared,scarce understanding gaze of the man in bed followed him as though hewere trying to comprehend, trying to get the meaning of Bayard's simple,direct sentences.
After he had been helped in drinking a quantity of hot coffee and hadswallowed a few spoonfuls of soup, Lytton dropped back on the pillow,sighed and, with his puffed eyes half open, slipped back into a statethat was half slumber, half stupor.
Bayard took the wounded arm from beneath the cover, unwrapped thebandages, eyed the clotted tear critically and bound it up again. Thenhe walked to the doorway and, with hands hooked in his belt, scowled outacross the lavendar floor of the treeless valley which spread before andbelow him, rising to blue heights in the far, far distance. He stoodthere a long, silent interval, staring vacantly at that vast panorama,then, moved slowly across the fenced dooryard, let himself into a bigenclosure and approached a round corral, through the bars of which thesorrel horse watched his progress with alert ears. For a half hour hebusied himself with currycomb and brush, rubbing the fine hair until thesunlight was shot back from it in points of golden light and all thetime the frown between his brows grew deeper, more perplexed. Finally,he straightened, tapped the comb against a post to free it of dust,flung an arm affectionately about the horse's neck, caressed one of thegreat, flat cheeks, idly, and, after a moment, began to laugh.
"Because we set our fool eyes on beauty in distress we cross a jag-curewith a reform school an' set up to herd th' cussed thing!" he chuckled."Abe, was there ever two bigger fools 'n you an' me? Because she's abeauty, she'll draw attention like honey draws bees; because she's introuble an' can't hide it, she'll have everybody prospectin' round tolocate her misery an' when they do, we'll be in th' middle of it all,keepin' th' worthless husband of a pretty young woman away from her. Allout of th' goodness of our hearts. It won't sound good when they talkabout it an' giggle, Abe. It won't sound good!" And then, veryseriously,
"How 'n hell could she marry a ... thing like that?"
During the day Lytton roused several times and begged for whiskey,incoherently, scarce consciously, but only once again did Bayard respondwith stimulants. That was late evening and, after the drink, the mandropped off into profound slumber, not to rouse from it until the sunagain rose above the hills and once more flooded the room with itsglorious light. Then, he looked up to see Bayard smiling seriously athim, a basin and towel in his hands.
"You're a good sleeper," he said. "I took a look at your pinked arm an'you didn't even move; just cussed me a little."
The other smiled, this time in a more human manner, for the swelling hadpartly gone from his lips and his eyes were nearer those of his species.
"Now, sit up," the cowman went on, "an' get your face washed, like agood boy."
Gently, swiftly, thoroughly, he washed Lytton's face and neck in waterfresh from the well under the ash tree, and, when he had finished, hetook the sick man in the crook of his big, steady arm, lifted himwithout much effort and placed him halfway
erect against the re-arrangedpillows.
"Would you eat somethin'?" he asked, and for the first time that day hispatient spoke.
"Lord, yes! I'm starved,"--feebly.
Bayard brought coffee again and eggs and stood by while Lytton consumedthem with a weak show of relish. During this breakfast only a few wordswere exchanged, but when the dishes were removed and Bayard returned tothe bed with a glass of water the other stared into his face for thespace of many breaths.
"Old chap, you're mighty white to do all this," he said, and his voicetrembled with earnestness. "I ... I don't believe I've ever spoken toyou a dozen times when I was sober and yet you.... How long have youbeen doing all this for me?"
"Only since night before last," Bayard answered, with a depreciatinglaugh. "It's no more 'n any man would do for another ... if he neededit."
Lytton searched his face seriously again.
"Oh, yes, it is," he muttered, with a painful shake of his head. "No onehas ever done for me like this, never since I was a little kid....
"I ... I don't blame 'em; especially the ones out here. I've been arotter all right; no excuse for it. I ... I've gone the limit and Iguess whoever tried to shoot me was justified ... I don't know,"--with aslow sigh--"how much hell I've raised.
"But ... but why did you do this for me? You've never seen me much;never had any reason to like me."
The smile went from Bayard's eyes. He thought "I'm doing this not foryou, but for a woman I've seen only once...." What he said aloud was:"Why, I reckoned if somebody didn't take care of you, you'd get killedup. I might just as well do it as anybody an' save Yavapai th' troubleof a funeral."
They looked at one another silently.
"A while ago ... yesterday, maybe ... I said something to you about a,about a woman," the man said, and an uneasiness marked his expression."I apologize, Old Man. I don't know just what I said, but I was nasty,and I'm sorry. A ... a man's woman is his own affair; nobody's else."
"You think so?" The question came with a surprising bluntness.
"Why, yes; always."
Bayard turned from the bedside abruptly and strode across the floor tothe table where a pan waited for the dirty dishes, rolling up hissleeves as he went, face troubled. Lytton's eyes followed him, a triflesadly at first, but slowly, as the other worked, a cunning came intothem, a shiftiness, a crafty glitter. He moistened his lips with histongue and stirred uneasily on his pillow. Once, he opened his mouth asthough to speak but checked the impulse. When the dishpan was hung awayand Bayard stood rolling down his sleeves, Lytton said:
"Old man, yesterday you gave me a drink or two. Can't ... haven't youany left this morning?"
"I have," the rancher said slowly, "but you don't need it to-day. Youdid yesterday, but this mornin' you've got some grub in you, you gotsomethin' more like a clear head, an' I don't guess any snake juicewould help matters along very fast. There's more coffee here an' you canfill up on that any old time you get shaky."
"Coffee!" scoffed the other, a sudden weak rage asserting itself. "Whatth' hell do I want of coffee? What I need's whiskey! Don't you think Iknow what I want? Lord, Bayard, I'm a man, ain't I? I can judge formyself what I want, can't I?"
"Yesterday, you said you was a gentleman," Bayard replied,reminiscently, his tone lightly chaffing, "an' I guess that about statesyour case. As for you knowin' what you want ... I don't agree with you;judgin' from your past, anyhow."
The man in the bed bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile; two of thefront teeth were missing, another broken, result of some recent fight,and with his swollen eyes he was a revolting sight. As he looked at him,Bayard's face reflected his deep disgust.
"What's your game?" Lytton challenged. "I didn't ask you to bring mehere, did I? I haven't asked any favors of you, have I? You ... Youshanghaied me out to your damned ranch; you keep me here, and then won'teven give me a drink out of your bottle. Hell, any sheepherder'd do thatfor me!
"If you think I'm ungrateful for what you've done--sobered me up, Imean--just say so and I'll get out. That was all right. But what wasyour object?"
"I thought by bringing you out here you might get straightened up. I didit for your own good. You don't understand right now, but you may ...sometime."
"My own good! Well, I've had enough for my own good, now, so I guess Iwon't wait any longer to understand!"
He kicked off the covers and stood erect, swaying dizzily. Bayardstepped across to him.
"Get back into bed," he said, evenly, with no display of temper. "Youcouldn't walk to water an' you couldn't set on a horse five minutes.You're here an' you're goin' to stay a while whether you like it ornot."
The cords of his neck stood out, giving the only evidence of the angerhe felt. He gently forced the other man back into bed and covered him,breathing a trifle swiftly but offering no further protest forexplanation.
"You keep me here by force, and then you prate about doing it for my owngood!" Lytton panted. "You damned hypocrite; you.... It's on account ofa woman, I know! She tried to get coy with me; she tried to make methink she was all yours when I followed her up. She told you about itand ... damn you, you're afraid to let me go back to town!"--liftinghimself on an elbow. "Come, Bayard, be frank with me: the thing betweenus is a woman, isn't it?"
The rancher eyed him a long time, almost absently. Then he walked slowlyto the far corner of the room and moved a chair back against the wallwith great pains; it was as though he were deciding something, somethingof great importance, something on which an immediate decision wasgravely necessary. He faced about and walked slowly back to the bedsidewithout speaking. His lips were shut and the one hand held behind himwas 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 athim, 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 thoughtbrought a great uneasiness.