by Harold Titus
CHAPTER XII
THE RUNAWAY
During these days Bayard saw Ann regularly. He would be up before dawnthat he might do the necessary riding after his cattle and reach Yavapaibefore sunset, because, somehow, he felt that to see another man's wifeby daylight was less of a transgression than though he went under coverof darkness. Perhaps it was also because he feared that in spite of hiscaution to keep Ann's identity secret, in spite of the community'saccepted first conclusion, Yavapai might learn that she was wife and notsister, and wished to fortify her against the sting of comment thatmight be passed should the revelation occur and his affection for her beguessed.
He was punctilious about his appearance. Invariably he changed shirtsand overalls before riding to the town, and he had reserved one gorgeousgreen silk scarf for those occasions. He never appeared before the womanunshaven and, since his one confessional outburst, he was as careful ofhis speech, his manner, as he was of his person.
Ann had taken to Arizona whole heartedly and dressed suitably for thenew life she was leading--divided skirts, simple blouses, a brimmed hatthat would shade her eyes. Her cheeks bronzed from sun and wind, theblood pumped closer to her skin from the outdoor life and her eyes,above the latent pain in their depths, took on the brilliance of health.Her new manner of dress, the better color that came to her face andaccentuated her beauty, the growing indications of vitality about her,served only to fan the flame in Bayard's heart, for as it made her moreattractive to him, it also made her more understandable, brought hernearer to his virile kind.
Ann had taken to Arizona whole-heartedly and dressedsuitably for the new life she was leading.]
"I've come to tell you about him, ma'am," he always said, by way ofopening their conversations.
Not once again did he call her by her given name, but, though he wasalways formal, stiffly polite, never allowing an intimation of personalregard to pass his lips, he could not hide the adoration in his eyes. Itcame through his dogged resolution to hold it back, for he could notkeep his gaze from following her every move, every bend of her neck,change of her lips, lift of her arms and shoulders or free, rhythmicmovement as she walked.
Ann saw and read that light and, though something in her kept demandingthat she blind herself to its significance, that, if necessary toaccomplish this, she refuse to give Bayard gaze for gaze, she could nomore have hidden the fact of that evidence of his love from herunderstanding than she could have stopped the quickening of her pulsewhen he approached.
Nora saw that light, too. She saw the trouble with it in his face;and the realization of what it all meant was like a stab in the breast.He had ceased entirely to laugh and banter with her as he had donebefore Ann Lytton came to Yavapai; in other days he had always eaten atthe Manzanita House when in town, and his humorous chiding had been oneof the things in which the girl found simple delight. Now, he came andwent without eating; his words to her were few, almost without exceptionthey were of the other woman and, always, his speech was sober.
Mrs. Weyl returned to Yavapai and with her coming Ann found anotheroutlet for the trouble that she fought vainly to repress. To Bayard shehad given the fullest detail of her confidence; through Nora she hadfound a method of forgetting for short successions of hours. But Bayardwas a man, and between them was the peculiar barrier which his love haderected; Nora was not the type to which Ann would go for comfort andthere, anyhow, was again a dividing circumstance which could not whollybe overcome. It was the emotional receptiveness of an understandingwoman that Ann Lytton needed; she wanted to be mothered, to be pitied,to be assured in the terms of her kind and all that she found in theclergyman's wife.
"Why, the poor child!" that good woman had cried when, on her arrivalhome, her husband had told her of Ann's presence. "And you say herbrother has disappeared?"
"From Yavapai, yes; I suspect, though, that Bruce Bayard knowssomething of where he is and I guess the girl could find him. Somethingpeculiar about it, though. Bruce is worried. And I think he's quitedesperately in love."
Forthwith, his wife dropped all other duties and went to Ann. In fifteenminutes the novelty of acquaintance had worn off and in an hour Ann wascrying in the motherly arms, while she poured her whole wretched storyinto the sympathetic ears; that is, all of the story up to the day whenBruce Bayard told her why she must not help him nurse Ned Lytton back tophysical and moral health.
To the accompaniment of many there-there's and dear-child's and caressesAnn's outburst of grief spent itself and the distress that had reflectedon the countenance of the older woman gave way to an expression of sweetunderstanding.
"And because of everything, we--Mr. Bayard and I--had thought it best tolet people go on thinking that I am ... Ned's sister.... You see, itmight be embarrassing to have them talk."
Her look wavered and the face of Mrs. Weyl showed a suddencomprehension. For a breath she sat gazing at the profile of the girlbeside her. Then she leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek and said,
"I know, daughter, I know."
That meeting led to daily visits and soon Bruce and Ann were invited toeat their evening meal at the Weyls'. It was a peculiar event, with theself-consciousness of Ann and the rancher putting an effective damper onthe conversation. Afterward, when the men sat outside in the twilight,Bruce smoking a cigarette and the minister drawing temperately on anaged cob pipe, the cowman broke a lengthy silence with:
"I'm glad she told your wife ... about bein' his wife.... It relievesme. A thing like that is considerable of a secret to pack around."
The other blew ashes gently from the bowl of his pipe, exposing the rubycoal before he spoke.
"If you ever think there's anything any man can do to help--fromlistening on up--just let me try, will you, my boy?"
"If any man could help, you'd be the one," was the answer. "But th'other day we sifted this thing down; it's up to th' man himself to besure that he's ridin' th' open trail an' ain't got anything to cover up.
"But lately so much has happened that I don't feel free, even when I'mout on the valley. I feel, somehow, like I was under fence ... fencedin."
Nora and Ann continued their rides together and one afternoon they hadgone to the westward in the direction of Bayard's ranch. It was atNora's suggestion, after they had agreed that Bruce might be on his wayto Yavapai that day. In the distance, they had sighted a rider and afterwatching him a time saw him wave his hat.
"That's him," the waitress said. "Here's some fine grass; let's give th'horses a bite an' let 'em cool till he comes up."
They waited there then, slouched in their saddles. Ann wanted to talkabout something other than Bruce, because, at the mention of his name,that old chill was bound to assert itself in Nora.
"This is a better horse than the one I've had," she commented, strokingthe pony's withers and hoping to start talk that would make the intervalof waiting one of ease between them.
"Yes," agreed Nora, "but he's got a bad eye. I was afraid of him when wefirst started out, but he seems to be all right. Bruce had one thatlooked like him once an' he tried to pitch me off."
"Hold up your head, pony," Ann said, "You'll get us into trouble--"
Her horse, searching grass, had thrust his head under the pony Nora rodeand, as Ann pulled on the reins, he responded with the alacrity of anervous animal, striking the stirrup as he threw up his head. Hecrouched, backed, half turned and Nora's spur caught under the headstallof his bridle. It was a bridle without a throat-latch, and, at the firstjerk, it slipped over his ears, the bit slid from his mouth andclattered on the rocks. Ann's first laugh changed to a cry of fright.Nora, with a jab of her spurs, started to send her pony close againstthe other, reaching out at the same time with her arms to encircle hishead. But she was too late, too slow. The freed horse trotted off a fewsteps, throwing his nose to one side in curiosity, felt no restraint,broke into a lope, struck back along the road toward town and,surprised, frightened by his unexpected liberty, increased his pace to apanicky run.
B
ehind, Nora pulled her horse up sharply, knowing that to pursue wouldonly set the runaway at a greater speed.
"Hang on!" she shouted, in a voice shrill with excitement. "Hang on!"
Ann was hanging on with all her strength. She was riding, too, with allthe skill at her command; for greater safety she clung to the horn withboth hands. She tried to speak to the horse under her, thinking that shemight quiet him by words, but the rush of wind whipped the feeble soundsfrom her lips and their remnants were drowned in the staccatoed drummingof hoofs as the crazed beast, breathing in excited gulps, breasted thehill that led them back toward town, gathering speed with every leapthat carried them forward.
Nora, seeing that a runaway was inevitable, cried to her mount and thepony, keyed to flight, sped along behind the other, losing with everylength traveled. Tears of fright spilled from the girl's eyes, chillingher cheeks. What might happen was incalculable, she knew.
Then new sounds, above the beat of her horse's hoofs, above the wind inher ears; the sweeping, measured, rolling batter of other hoofs, andNora turned her head to see Bruce Bayard, mouth set, eyes glowing, brimof his hat plastered back against the crown by his rush, urge his bigsorrel horse toward her. He hung low over the fork of his saddle, clearof his seat, tense, yet lithe, and responding to every undulation of thebeast that carried him.
From a distance Bayard had seen. He thought at first that Ann hadstarted her pony purposely, but when the animal raced away toward townat such frantic speed, when Ann's hat was whipped from her head, when heheard a distant, faint scream, he knew that no prompting of the woman'shad been behind the break. He stretched himself low over Abe's neck andcried aloud, hung in his spurs and fanned the great beast's flanks withhis quirt. Never before had the sorrel been called upon so sharply;never before had he felt such a prodding of rowels or lashing ofrawhide. Ears back, nose out, limbs flexing and straightening, spurningthe roadway with his drumming hoofs, the great animal started inpursuit.
For a mile the road held up hill, following closely the rim of a risethat hung high above the valley to the right. As it rose, the wagontrack bent to the left, with the trend of the rim. At the crest of thehill Yavapai would be visible; from there the road, too, could be seen,swinging in a big arc toward the town, which might be reached by travelover a straight line; but that way would lead down an abrupt drop andover footing that was atrocious, strewn with _malpais_ boulders andrutted by many washes.
It was to overtake Ann's runaway before he topped this rise that Bayardwhipped his sorrel. He knew what might happen there. The animal thatbore the woman was crazed beyond control, beyond his own horse judgment.He was running, and his sole objective was home. Now, he was taking thequickest possible route and the moment he struck the higher country hemight leave the road and go straight for Yavapai, plunging down thesharp point that stood three hundred feet above the valley, and makingover the rocks with the abandon of a beast that is bred and reared amongthem. Well enough to run over rough ground at most times, but in thisinsane going the horse would be heedless of his instinctive caution,sacrificing everything for speed. He might fall before he reached thevalley floor, he might lose his footing at any yard between there andtown, and a fall in that ragged, volcanic rock, would be a terriblething for a woman.
Abe responded superbly to the urging. He passed Nora's pony in a showerof gravel. His belly seemed to hang unbelievably close to the ground,his stride lengthened, his tail stood rippling behind him, his feetsmote the road as though spitefully and he stretched his white patchednose far out as if he would force his tendons to a performance beyondtheir actual power. But he could not make it; the task of overcomingthat handicap in that distance was beyond the ability of blood andbone.
As he went on, leap by leap, and saw that his gaining was not bringinghim beside Ann in time, Bayard commenced to call aloud to the horseunder him, and his eyes grew wide with dread.
His fears were well grounded. As though he had planned it long before,as if the whole route of his flight had been preconceived, the blackpony swung to the right as he came up on level ground. He cut across theintervening flat and, ears back, hindquarters scrooching far under hisbody as he changed his gait for the steep drop, he disappeared over therim.
Bayard cried aloud, the sorrel swung unbidden on the trail of therunaway and twenty yards behind stuck his fore feet stiffly out for thefirst leap down the rock-littered point. Unspeakable footing, that._Malpais_ lumps, ranging from the size of an egg to some that weighedtons, were everywhere. Between them sparse grass grew, but in no placewas there bare ground the size of a horse's hoof, and for every fourlengths they traveled forward, they dropped toward the valley by one!
Ears up now, the sorrel watched his footing anxiously, but the blackpony, eyes rolling, put his whole vigor into the running, urged on toeven greater efforts by the nearness of the pursuing animal. The fortunethat goes with flying bronchos alone kept his feet beneath his body.
Bayard's mouth was open and each time the shock of being thrown forwardand down racked his body, the breath was beaten from him. He lookedahead, watching the footing at the bottom, leaving that over which theythen passed to his horse, for the most critical moment in a run such asthey took is when the horses strike level ground. Then they are apt togo end over end, tripped by the impetus that their rush downhill givesthem. He knew that he could not overtake and turn Ann's pony with safetybefore they reached the bottom. He feared that to come abreast of himmight drive the frantic beast to that last effort which would result inan immediate fall. Every instant was precious; every leap filled withpotential disaster.
The stallion left off pretense at clean running. He slipped andfloundered and scrambled down the point; at times almost sitting on hishaunches to keep the rush of his descent within safety and retaincontrol of his balance. Slowly he drew closer to the other animal,crowding a bit to the left to be nearer, grunting with his straining,dividing his attention between preserving caution and making progress.
Ann's hair came down, tumbling about her shoulders, then down her back,and finally brushed the sweated coat of her runaway with its ends. Thehorrible sensation of falling, of pitching forward helplessly, sweptthrough her vitals each time the animal under her leaped outward anddown. It grew to an acute physical pain by its constant repetition. Herface was very white, but almost expressionless. Only her eyes betrayedthe fear in her by their darkness, by their strained lids. Her mouth wasfixed in determination to play the game to its end. She heard the otherhorse coming; Bayard's voice had called out to her. That was all sheknew. This flight was horrible, tragic; with each move of her horse shefeared that it must be the last, that she would be flung into thoserocks, yet, somehow, she felt that it would end well. For Bayard wasnear her.
Not so with the man. As they slid down halfway to the valley, he criedaloud to his horse again, for he saw that along the base of the drop,right at the place toward which they were floundering, a recent stormhad gouged a fresh wash. Deep and narrow and rock filled, and, if herhorse, unable to stop, unable to turn with any degree of safety whateverwent into that ...
Behind them, loosened rocks clattered along, the dust rose, their trailwas marked by black blotches where the scant red soil had been turnedup. The sorrel's nose reached the black's reeling rump; it stretched tohis flank, to the saddle, to his shoulder.... And Ann turned her headquickly, appealingly.
"Careful ... Abe! Once more ... easy ..."
Bayard dropped his reins; he leaned to the left. He scratched with hisspurs. His horse leaped powerfully twice, thrice, caution abandoned,risking everything now. The man swung down, his arm encircled Ann'swaist, he brought the pressure of his right knee to bear against thesaddle, and lifted her clear, a warm, limp weight against his body.
Staggering under the added burden, the stallion gathered himself for atry at the wash which he must either clear or in which he and those hecarried were to fall in a tangle. Bayard, lifting the woman high,balanced in his saddle and gathered her closer.
The black floundered in uncertain jumps, throwing his head down in aneffort to check his progress, was overcome by his own momentum andleaped recklessly. He misjudged, fell short and with a grunt and a thudand a threshing went down into the bald rocks that floods had piled inthe gully.
Abe did not try to stop, to overcome the added impetus that this newweight gave him. He lowered his head in a show of determination, tookthe last three strides with a swift scramble and leaped.
Bayard thought that they were in the air for seconds. They seemed tofloat over that wash. Seemed to hang suspended a deliberate instant.Then they came down with a sob wrenched from the horse as his forefeetclawed the far footing for a retaining hold and his hindquarters, thebank crumbling under them, slipped down into the gully. He strained aninstant against sliding further back, gathering himself in an agony ofeffort and floundered safely up!
Bruce became conscious that Ann's arms were about his neck, that herbody was close against his. He knew that his limbs quivered, partly fromthe recent fright, partly from contact with the woman.
Abe staggered forward a few steps, halted and turned to look at hisunfortunate brother galloping lamely toward Yavapai.
Except for the animal's breathing, the world was very quiet. For amoment Ann lay in Bayard's embrace; his one arm was about her shoulders,the other hooked behind her knees; then, convulsively, her armstightened about his neck; she pressed her cheek against his and clung sowhile their hearts throbbed, one against the other. He had not moved, herefrained from crushing her, from taking her lips with his. It cost himdearly and the effort to resist shot another tremor through his frame.On that she roused.
"I wasn't afraid ... after I knew it was you," she said, raising herhead.
"I was, ma'am," he said, soberly, lifting and seating her on Abe'swithers.
"I was mighty scared. See what happened to your horse? That ... You'dhave been with him in those rocks."
He dismounted, still supporting her in her position.
"You sit in th' saddle, ma'am; I'll walk an' lead Abe. You're ... you'renot scared now?"
"A little,"--breathing deeply as he helped her, and, laughing in astrained tone. "I'll ... I'll be frightened later I expect, but I'm notnow ... much ... It's you, you keep me from it," she said. "I'm notfrightened with you."
"I tried to keep things so you won't have to be, ma'am."
Probably because she was weak, perhaps wholly because of the hotyearning that contact with him had roused in her, Ann swayed down towardhim. It was as though she would fall into his arms, as though sheherself would stir his repressed desire for her until it overcame hisown judgment, and yield to his will there in the brilliant afternoon; asthough she were going to him, then, for all time, regardless ofeverything, caring only for the instant that her lips should be on his.He started forward, flung up one arm as though to catch her; then drewback.
"Don't, ma'am," he begged. "Don't! For the sake ... for your sake,don't."
The woman swallowed and straightened her back as though just coming tothe complete realization of what had happened.
"Forgive me," she whispered.
They had not heard Nora riding down to them, so great was theirabsorption in one another, but at that moment when Ann's head droopedand Bayard's shoulders flexed as from a great fatigue the waitresshalted her horse beside them.
"God! I didn't think...."
She had looked at them with the fear that had struck her as she watchedthe last phase of their descent still gripping her. But in their facesshe read that which they both struggled to hide from one another and thelight that had been in her eyes went out. She turned her face away fromthem, looking out at the long afternoon shadows.
"I'll have to be gettin' back," she said, dully, as though unconsciousof the words.
"We'll go with you, Nora," the man said, very quietly. "Mrs. Lytton," hepronounced the words distinctly as if to impress himself with theirsignificance--"is the first person who has ever been on Abe but me....He seems to like it."
Leading the horse by the reins, he began to climb the point back towardthe road. In the east the runaway had dwindled to a bobbing fleck.