Bruce of the Circle A

by Harold Titus

  CHAPTER XV

  HER LORD AND MASTER

  Ann watched him go, an apprehensive mood coming upon her. He shacked offon the pinto horse while Abe, left alone in the corral, trotted aboutand nickered and pawed to show his displeasure at being left behind. Fora long time the girl stood there, not moving, breathing slowly; then shelooked about her, turned and walked into Bruce's room, roamed around,examining the books, the pictures, the furniture, touching things withher finger tips gently, lovingly, hearing his voice again as it told herof them. For her each article in that room now held a particularinterest. She stared at the photograph of the girl he had selected as asister, at Whistler's fine, capped old lady, opened the "FrenchRevolution" and riffled the leaves he had thumbed and soiled and torn,and laughed deep in her throat as she saw the curtains hangingirregularly from their six-penny nails ... laughed, though her eyes weredamp.

  A step sounded in the kitchen and the woman became rigid as shelistened.

  "... hotter ..."

  Just the one word of the muttered sentence was distinguishable, but sheknew it was not Bayard's voice; knew, then, whose it must be.

  Very quietly she walked to the doorway of the bedroom and stood there.Ned Lytton had halted a step from the kitchen entry and was wiping hisface with a black silk kerchief. He completed the operation, removed hishat, tossed it to a chair, unbuttoned the neck of his shirt ... andceased all movements.

  For each the wordless, soundless period that followed seemed to be anage. The woman looked at the man with a slight feeling of giddiness, asensation that was at once relief and horror, for he was as her worstfears would have it; his face, in spite of his weeks of good living, wasthe color of suet, purple sacks under the eyes, lips hard and cruel, andfrom chin to brow were the indelible marks of wasting, of debauchery.

  "Ann!" he exclaimed.

  Surprise, dread, a mingling of many emotions was in the tone, and hewaited at high tension for her to answer. His wife, a woman he had notseen in three years, standing there before him in the garb of this newcountry, beautiful, desirable, come as though from thin air! He thoughtthis might be merely an hallucination, that it might be some uncannycreation of his unstable mind.

  "Yes, Ned; it is I," she answered, with a catch in her voice.

  On her words he stepped quickly forward, fear gone, eagerness about him.He took her hands in his, fondling them nervously, and had she notswayed back from him to the slightest noticeable degree, he would havefollowed out his prompting to take her lips with as muchmatter-of-factness as he had clutched her hands.

  "Ann, where did you come from?" he cried. "Why, I thought maybe you werea ... a ghost or something! Oh, I'm glad to see you!"

  "Are you, Ned?"--almost plaintively, stroking the back of one of hishands as she looked into his lighted eyes, reading sadly the desirebehind that shallow joy at sight of her. "Are you really glad?"

  "Of course I'm glad! Who wouldn't be? Gad, Ann, you're in fineshape!"--stepping back from her, still holding her hands, and lookingher up and down, greedily. "Oh, you're good to look at!"

  He went close to her again and reached out one arm quickly to slip itabout her waist, but she turned away from him quite casually and hestopped, disconcerted, hurt, humiliated, but covering the fact as wellas he could.

  An awkward fraction of a minute followed, which he broke by asking:

  "But where did you come from, Ann? How did you get here? How did youknow? What brought you?"

  She smiled wanly.

  "One at a time, Ned. You brought me. You should know that. I came outhere to find you, to see what was happening, to help you if I could."

  She allowed him to take her hands again and looked wistfully into hisface as she talked. A change came into his expression with her words andhis gaze shifted from hers while a show of petulance appeared in hisslightly drawn brows.

  "Well, I've needed help in one way," he muttered.

  "You've been very ill, I know."

  "You know?"--in surprise.

  "Yes; I have been here through it all."

  He dropped her hand and tilted his head incredulously.

  "Through it all! What do you mean?"

  "I've been here for a month."

  "A month! You've been here a month and this is the first time you'vecome to see me?"

  "I didn't think it best to come before."

  "You've been here while I've been passing through hell itself? You'veknown about me, known how I've suffered? Have you?"

  "Oh, Ned, I have...."

  "And you didn't come to me when I needed help most! You've not eventaken the trouble to find out about me--"

  "You're wrong there," Ann broke in simply. With the return of his old,petulant, irritating manner, the wistfulness slipped from her and alittle show of independence, of resentment, came over the woman. "Ihave known about you; I've kept track of you; I've waited and prayed forthe time when it would be best for me to see you...."

  He folded his arms theatrically and swung one leg over the corner of thetable. Ann stopped talking on that, for his attitude was one of openchallenge.

  "You've come out here to spy on me! Isn't that it? You've come to helpme, you said, and yet you wouldn't even let me know you were here? Isn'tit the same old game? Isn't it?"

  She did not answer.

  "Isn't it a fact that you've been waiting to see what I'd do when I gotwell? I suppose you've come out here to-day with a prayer-book and a lotof soft words, a lot of cant, to try to reform me?" He thrust his faceclose to hers as he asked the last.

  "Is this the way you're going to greet me?" she asked. "Haven't youanything but the same old suspicion, the same old denunciation for me?"

  He looked away from her and shrugged his shoulders.

  "How have you known about me when you haven't been to see me?" he asked,evasively.

  "Mr. Bayard has kept me informed."

  He looked at her through a moment of silence, and she looked back assteadily, as intently as he.

  "Bayard?" he asked. "Bayard? He's been telling you ... about me?"

  "He's been as kind to me as he has to you, Ned,"--with a feeling ofmisgiving even as she uttered the words. "He has ... ridden to Yavapaimany times just to tell me about you."

  He looked at her again, and she saw the puzzlement in his face. Hestarted as though to speak, checked himself and looked past her intoBayard's room.

  "Where is he now?"

  "He's gone to town; he left a few moments after I came. He asked meto--"

  "Did he show you into that room?"

  "Yes,"--turning to look. "He told me to use it."

  Her husband eyed her calculatingly and rested his weight on the tableonce more. It was as though he had settled some important question forhimself.

  "Why haven't you been out before, Ann?" he asked her, eyes holding onher face to detect its slightest change of expression.

  She felt herself flushing at that; her conscience again!

  "You were in an awful condition, Ned," she forced herself to say. "I sawyou in Yavapai, the night I arrived. I--I helped Mr. Bayard fix yourarm; I knew how ill you would be when you came to yourself. Weagreed--Mr. Bayard and I--that it would needlessly excite you, if I wereto come here, so I stayed away. I stayed as long as I could,"--withdeadly honesty--"I had to come to-day."

  "You and Bayard.... You both thought it best for me to stay herewithout knowing my wife was in Arizona?"

  His attitude had become that of a cross-examiner.

  "Yes, Ned. You were in fearful shape. You know that for days afteryou--"

  "And you've relied on him to give you news of me?"

  He stood erect and moved nearer, watching her face closely as her eyesbecame less certain, her cheeks a deeper color.

  "Yes, Ned. Don't get worked up. It's been all right. I'm sure the weeksyou put in here have given...."

  "Given what?" he broke in, brows gathering, thrusting out his chin,glaring at her and drawing back his lips to bare the gap left by thebroken and miss
ing teeth.

  The woman recoiled.

  "Give what?" he demanded again, trembling from knee to fingers. "To givehim a chance to come and see you, that's what you've given!"

  "Ned Ly--"--crouching, a hand to one cheek, Ann backed into Bayard'sroom quickly as her husband, fists clenched and raised, lurched towardher.

  "Don't talk to me!" he cried thickly, face dark, voice unnatural. "Don'ttalk to me,"--looking not at her eyes but at her heaving breast. "Iknow. I know now what I should have known weeks ago! I know now why he'sbeen shaving his pretty face every day, why he's been dolling up everytime he left for town, putting on his gay scarfs, changing his shirtslike a gentleman, instead of a dirty hound that would steal a man's wifeas soon as he would steal a neighbor's calf! I know why he's held mehere and lied to me and played the hypocrite,"--words running togetherunder the intensity of his raving.

  "I see it now! I see why he's admitted that there was a woman botheringhim. I see why he's tried to ring in that hotel waitress to make methink she was the one he went to see. I see it all; I see what a foolI've been, what a lying pup Bayard is with all his smug talk abouthelping me! Helping me ... when he's been helping himself to my wife!"

  "Ned!"

  "A month, eh?" he went on. "You've been here a month, have you? And he'sknown it; he's kept me here, by God, through fear, that's all. I confessit to you! I'd have been gone long ago but I was afraid of him! He'sintimidated me on the pretext of doing it for my own good while he couldsteal my wife ... my wife ... you-u-u...."

  He advanced slowly, reasonless eyes on hers now, and Ann backed swiftly,putting the table between them, watching him with fear stamped on herfeatures.

  "Ugh! The snake! The poison, lying, grovelling--"

  "Ned!"

  The sharpness of her cry, the way she straightened and stamped her footand vibrated with indignation broke through his rage, even, and hestopped.

  "You don't know what you're saying." Her voice quivered. "You'reaccusing the best man friend you've ever had; you're cursing one of thebest men that ever walked ground, and you're doing it without reason!"

  "Without reason, am I?" he parried, quieter, breathing hard, butcontrolling his voice. "It's without reason when he lives with me amonth, seeing my wife day after day, knowing I've not seen her in yearsand then never breathing a word about it? It's without reason when heopens this room to you ... a room he's never let me look into, and tellsyou to use it? It's no reason when he runs away to town rather than faceme here in your presence? Can you argue against that?

  "And it's without reason when you stand there flushed to your hair, youguilty woman?"

  He thumped the table with his fist. "You guilty woman," he repeated,just above a whisper. "You guilty--My wife, conspiring with your loverwhile he keeps me here by force, by brute force. Can you argue againstthat ... against that?"

  It was the great moment of Ann Lytton's life. It seemed as though theinner conflict was causing congestion in her chest, stilling her heart,clogging her breathing, making her blind and powerless to move or speakor think. It was the last struggle against her old manner of thought,against the old Ann, the strangling for once and for all that narrowconscience, the wiping out of that false conception of morality, for sheemerged from her moment of doubt, of torment, a beautiful, bravecreature. Her great sacrifice had been offered; it had been repulsedwith contempt and now she stood free, ready to fight for her spiritualhonor, her self-respect, in the face of a world's disapproval, if thatshould become necessary.

  "Yes, I can argue against that," she cried, closing her eyes and smilingin fine confidence. "I can, Ned Lytton. I can, because he is my lover,because the love he bears for me is pure, is good, is true holiness!"

  She leaned toward him across the table, still smiling and letting hervoice drop to its normal tone, yet losing none of its triumphantresonance.

  "And you can say that," he jeered, "after he's been ... after you'vebeen letting him keep you a month!"

  "Oh, you can't hurt me with your insults, Ned, for they won't go home.You know that statement isn't true; you know me too well for that. I'myour wife by law, Ned, but beyond that I'm as free as I was five yearsago, before I ever saw you. Emancipating myself wasn't easy. I came outhere hampered by tradition and terms and prejudice, but I've learned thetruth from this country, these people, from ... you. I've learned thatwithout love, without sympathy, without understanding or the effort,the desire, to understand, no marriage is a marriage; that without themit is only ugly, hideous.

  "I've had to fight it all out and think it all out for myself.Circumstances and people have helped me make my decision. I owed yousomething, I still thought, and I came here to-day to fulfill my duty,to give you another chance. If you had met me with even friendliness,I'd have shut my eyes, my ears, my heart to Bruce Bayard in spite of allhe means to me. I'd have gone with you, thinking that I might take upthe work of regeneration where he left off and give my life to making aman of you, foregoing anything greater, better for myself, in the hopethat some day, some time you and I might approach halfway to happiness.

  "But what did you do; what did I find? In the first moments hate of mecame into your face; you jeered at me for coming, mocked me. That's whathappened. Then you suspect me, suspect Bayard, who has kept you alive,who has given you another chance at everything ... including me."

  "Suspect him? Of course I suspect him! You've admitted your guilt, youdamned--"

  "Don't go on that way, Ned. It's only a waste of time. I told you whatwould have happened, if you had greeted me in another way. You've hadyour chance ... you've had your thousand chances in these last fiveyears. It's all over now. It's over between us, Ned. It's been a bitter,dreary failure and the sooner we end it all, the better. Don't thinkI'm going to transgress what you call morality," she pleaded, smilingweakly. "You deserted me, Ned, after you'd abused me. You've refused tosupport me, you've been unfaithful in every way. I don't think the lawthat made me your wife will refuse to release me now--"

  "You're forgetting something," he broke in, rallying his assurance withan effort. "You're forgetting that while you were conspiring to keep mehere, your lover, Bruce Bayard,"--drawling the words--"was meeting yousecretly. What do you think your law will say to that?"

  "I'll trust to it, Ned," she answered, in splendid composure. "I willtrust to other men to judge between us--"

  "Then, I won't!" he screamed, stepping quickly around the table,grasping for her arm. She retreated quickly and he lunged for her againand again missed.

  Then, with a choking oath, he threw the table aside and the lamp wentcrashing to the floor.

  "Then, I won't, damn you! You're my wife, to do as I please with; thelaw gave you to me, and it hasn't taken you from me yet!"

  He advanced menacingly toward her as she backed into a corner, palingwith actual fear now; his elbows stuck stiffly out from his sides, hishands were clenched at his hips, face thrust forward, feet carrying himto her with slow uncertainty.

  "Ned--" Her voice quavered. "Ned, what are you going to do?"

  "Maybe I'll ... strangle you!" he said.

  She looked quickly from side to side and one hand clutched at her breastconvulsively, clutched the cloth ... and something that was restingwithin her waist. She started and with a quick movement unbuttoned thegarment at her bosom, reached in and drew out an automatic pistol.

  "Ned, don't force me!" she said, slowly, voice unsteady.

  The man halted, hesitated, backed away, both hands half raised.

  "Ann, you wouldn't shoot me!" he whispered.

  "You said ... you'd strangle me, Ned,"--leaning against the wall forsupport, because weakness had swept over her.

  Lytton drew a hand across his eyes. He trembled visibly.

  "But ... I was mad, Ann," he stammered. "I was crazy; I wouldn't...."

  Her hands dropped to her sides and she turned her face from him,shutting her eyes and frowning at the helplessness that came over herwith the excitement and the fear of a physical e
ncounter. She couldbrave any moral clash, but her body was a woman's body, her strength awoman's strength, and now, when she faced disaster, her muscles failedher.

  Ned comprehended. He stepped quickly to her side, reached to the handthat held the weapon, fastened on it and with a wrench, jerked it freefrom her limp grasp.

  "You would, would you?" he muttered, his old malevolence returning withassurance that the woman could no longer defend herself. "This! Wheredid you get it?"--surveying the weapon.

  "It's Bayard's."

  "He gave it to you to use on me?"--with a short laugh.

  The woman shook her head wearily.

  "You refuse to understand anything," she responded. "He gave it to me toprotect you from himself."

  He stood looking at her, revolving that assertion quickly in his mind,feeling for the first time that his command over the situation was goodonly so long as they were alone. Before his suddenly rising fear ofBruce Bayard his bitterness retreated.

  "Well, we'll quit this place," he said with a swagger. "We'll clear out,you and I.... I've had enough of this damned treachery; trying to stealyou, my wife. I might have known. I told him his foot would slip!"

  Ann scarcely heard. She was possessed by a queer lethargy. She wanted torest, to be quiet, to be left alone, yet she knew that much remained tobe endured. She had never rebelled before; she had always compromisedand she felt that after her great demonstration of self-sufficiencynothing could matter a great deal. Ned had said that they would quitthis place. She had no idea of resisting, of even arguing. It was easierto go, to delay a further break, for their journey would not be far, shefelt, nor would she be with her husband long. Bayard would come somehow;he had come when she was in danger before, and now that which menacedher was of much less consequence. Why fear?

  She stooped to pick up a book that had been thrown to the floor when thetable overturned.

  "Leave that alone!" he ordered.

  She straightened mechanically, the listlessness that was upon her makingit far easier to obey than to summon the show of strength necessary toresist.

  "We'll quit this place," Ned repeated again. "And you'll go with me ..."

  He turned to face the doorway. The bent reading lamp lay at his feet,shade and chimney wrecked, oil gurgling from it. He kicked the thingviciously, sending it crashing against the wall.

  "The damned snake!" he muttered. "He brought you in here, did he? Intothis place.... Bah!"

  He seized a volume from the bookcase and flung it at the ruined lamp.

  "Ned, don't!" she pleaded.

  "You keep quiet; you'll have enough to think about coming with me. Comeon, now!"

  Mechanically she responded and with unreal, heavy movements put on herhat as he told her to do, crossed the kitchen floor and emerged into theafternoon sunlight. Her husband's horse, still saddled, stood in theshade of the ash tree.

  "He's left only that damn stallion," she heard Ned say. "Well, we'lltake him."

  "What for, Ned?" she asked dully, walking after him as he strode towardthe corral and catching his sleeve, shaking it for his attention. "Whyare you taking him?"

  "To take you away on," he snapped.

  "That's stealing."

  "He didn't think of that when he tried to steal my wife; I'll steal twoof his horses for a while ... just like he had you ... for a while."

  Her strength of wit had been spent in the furious scene within the houseand she attempted no answer, just stood outside while Lytton entered thecorral, bridled the curious stallion and turned to lead him out. Abewould not move. He would not even turn about and the man's strength wasnot sufficient to do more than pull his head around.

  "Come along, you----"

  He took off his hat and swung it to strike the horse's nose sharply, butAbe only threw up his head and blinked rapidly. The ears were flat andhe switched his tail when Lytton again tried to drag him out. He wouldnot respond; just braced backward and resisted.

  Ann forced her mind to function with some degree of alertness.

  "Let me take him, Ned," she said, white faced and quiet. "I can't seeyou abuse him."

  She took the reins from her husband who relinquished his grip on themreluctantly; then she spoke a low word to the sorrel. He sniffed hergarments and moved his nostrils in silent token of recognition. This wasthe woman Bayard had put on his back, the only person besides his masterwho had ever straddled him, so it must be all right. He turned andfollowed her from the corral while Lytton swore under his breath.

  Ten minutes later, the woman mounted on the stallion, they rode throughthe gate. Ann was silent, scarcely comprehending what happened.

  They did not turn to the left and take the road toward Yavapai; instead,Ned followed a course that held straight eastward, gradually taking themaway from the wagon tracks, out into the great expanse of valley.

  "Where are you taking me, Ned?" Ann finally rallied her wits enough toask.

  "Back to my castle!" he mocked. "Back to the mine, where nobody'll cometo get you!"

  On that, Bayard's unexplained warning occurred to the girl and she felther heart leap.

  "Not that!" she said, dully. "Oh, Ned, not that. Something awful ...will happen if you go back there."

  He looked at her, suspecting that this was a ruse.

  "What makes you think that?"

  "I was warned never to let you go back there."

  "Did Bayard warn you?"--leaning low in his saddle that he might see herface better. She answered with a nod. "And why didn't he want me to goback there?"

  "I don't know, Ned. But--Take my word, I beg of you!"

  He rose in his stirrups and shook his fist at her.

  "He steals my wife and tries to frighten me away from my property, doeshe? What's his interest in the Sunset mine? Do you know? No? Well, we'llfind out by to-morrow night, damn him!"

  He slapped his coat pocket where the automatic rested and lifted hisquirt to cut the hindquarters of the slow moving stallion.

  * * * * *

  It was late night when they halted at a ranch, and the house was indarkness.

  "We'll put up here," Ned growled. "We'll make on before daylight ... ifwe can get this damned horse to move!"

  He drew back a fist as though he would strike the stallion, for thesorrel had retarded them, insisting on turning and trying to start backtoward the Circle A ranch, refusing to increase his pace beyond acrawling walk, held to that only by Ann's coaxing, for she knew that ifshe gave the animal his head and let him turn back, her husband wouldbe angered to a point where he might abuse the beast.

  She feared no special thing now. She wanted to reach some destination,some place where she could rest and think. This being led away seemed asonly some process of transition; it was unpleasant, but great happinesswas not far off. Of that she was certain.

  But she could not let Ned go on to his mine. Danger of some sort waitedthere and it was impossible for her to allow him to walk into it. Shehad planned while they rode that afternoon just how she would make thefirst move to prevent his reaching the Sunset and as her husbandhammered on the door of the house to rouse the occupants she drew a pinfrom her hat, shoved herself back in the saddle, and, while he wasparleying with the roused rancher, scratched swiftly and nervously onthe smooth leather.