Bruce of the Circle A

by Harold Titus

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE FIGHT

  Bayard had guessed rightly. After miles of silent riding Lytton hadpulled his horse up with a jerk, had laid a hand on Ann's bridle andchecked her pony with another wrench.

  "Who's that?" he growled, staring at Bayard.

  She had looked at the distant horse, floundering up the slope beyondthem, recognized both Abe and his rider and had turned to stare at herhusband with fear in her eyes.

  "Who is it?" he demanded again, and she dropped her gaze.

  "So that's it!" he jeered. "Your lover is trying to play two games. He'scome to beat us to it, has he?"--he licked his lips nervously. "Well,we'll see!"

  He hung his spurs in and fanned her horse with his quirt and, stillclinging to her bridle, led his wife at a high lope off to the right,swinging behind a shoulder of the hill and climbing up a sharp, woodeddraw.

  "I'll fool your friend!" he laughed, twenty minutes later when they hadclimbed a steep ridge and the winded horses had dropped into a walk."I'll fool him!"

  He drew Bayard's automatic, which he had taken from Ann, and looked itover in crafty anticipation.

  Ann, after her night and her day of hardship, of ceaseless anxiety,could not cry out. A sound started but went dry and dead in her throat.She sat lax in her saddle, worn and confused and suddenly indifferent.She had been defiant yesterday afternoon for a time; she had beenfrightened later; with cunning she had scratched her warning on Abe'ssaddle and with like strategy she had managed to set the great horsefree when they were preparing for their early morning start from theBoyd ranch. She had withstood her husband's taunts flung at her throughtheir sleepless night, she had taken in silence his abuse when it becamenecessary to secure another horse; beside him she had ridden in silencedown the valley, knowing him for a crazed man. And now sight of Bayard,the sense of relief that his nearness brought, the sudden fear for hissafety at seeing the pistol, reduced her to helplessness.

  "You wait here," she heard her husband say.

  He followed the order with a threat of some sort, a threat against herlife she afterward remembered, dismounted and walked away. At the timehis departure left no impression on her. She sat limp in her saddle along interval, then leaned forward and, face in her horse's mane, gaveway to sobbing. The vent for that emotion was relief; how long she criedshe did not know, but suddenly she found herself on the ground, lookingabout, alive to the fact that the silence seemed like that of death.

  * * * * *

  Cautiously, Lytton crept up over the rocks after he left Ann. Hismovements gave no hint of his recent weakness; they were quick andjerky, but certain. His lids were narrowed and between them his eyesshowed balefully. He held his weapon in his right hand, slightlyelevated, ready to shoot. Moisture formed on his forehead and ran downover his cheeks. Now and then his gun hand trembled spasmodically andthen he halted until it was firm again.

  He knew these rocks well and took no chances of exposing himself. Heslunk from tree to boulder and from boulder to brush, always makingnearer camp, always ready for an emergency. He attained a point where hecould look down on the cabin below him and stood there a long time, halfcrouched, poised, scanning every corner, every shadow. The corral washidden from him and Abe, lying under a spreading juniper tree, was outof his range of vision. He listened as he watched but no sound came tohim. Then he went on, down the ragged way.

  At intervals of every few feet he halted and listened, repressing evenhis own breath that he might hear the slightest sound. But no movement,no vibration disturbed that crystal noontime until he had gone halfwayto the red-roofed house below the dump. Then a bird fluttered from closebeside him: a soft, abrupt, diminishing whirr of wings and the manshrank back against the rock, lifting his gun hand high, breath hissingas it slipped out between his teeth, the craven in him shaking hislimbs, gripping his throat. Discovery of what had startled him broughtonly slow relief, and minutes elapsed before he straightened and laughedsilently to shame his nerves to steadiness.

  A stone, loosened by his foot, rolled down before him to the next ledge,rattling as it went, and he squatted quickly, again afraid, yet alert.For he felt that noise emanating from his movements would precipitatedevelopments. But nothing moved, no new sounds came to him.

  He was not certain that Bayard had seen them out on the valley. He didnot know of his wife's message for help; in his confused consciousnesshe had supposed that the cowman had ridden to the mine on some covetouserrand and that Bruce was ignorant of the fact that he and Ann had leftthe Circle A. He did not even stop to remember that Bayard had come intosight and disappeared through the timber on Abe, and that the stallionhad slipped away from them before dawn. He had leaped to the conclusionthat Bruce would be in the log house down yonder or somewhere about theproperty. So he stalked on, lips dry and hot with the desire to kill....

  Lytton approached to within ten yards of the cabin without hearing moresounds. There he straightened to his toes and stretched his neck to lookabout, peering over the tops of oak brush that flourished in the scantsoil, and, as he reached his full height, the sharp sound of a chairscraping on the floor sent him to a wilting, quivering squat, caused hisbreath to come in gasps, made his hands sweat until the pistol he heldwas slippery with their moisture. His head roared with excitement, butthrough it he thought he heard the sound of a man's voice lifted inspeech.

  No window was visible to him from his position. The back door of thekitchen stood open, he could see, but his view of the room through itwas negligible. At the other end of the room was a door and a window,but he dared not risk advance from that direction. He crouched there,panting, fearing, yet planning quickly, driven to desperation by theurge of the hate which rankled in him. Bruce Bayard had attempted tosteal his wife, he repeated to himself, he had attempted to frighten himaway from his other property, his mine, and he was roused to a pitch ofnervous excitement that carried him beyond the caution of mental balanceand yet did not stimulate him to the abandon of actual madness. Hewanted Bayard's life with all the lust that can be stirred in men by anoutraging of the sense of possession and the passion of jealousy ...beyond which there can be no destroying desire.

  No other sounds came from the house, but he was satisfied that the manwaiting within was his man and he skulked from the brush, choosing hisfooting with care, treading on the balls of his feet, preventing thestiff branches from slapping noisily together by his cautious left hand.Slow, cat-like in his movements, he covered the distance to the cabin,flinging out an arm on the last step as though he were falling and withit steadying himself against the log wall of the building, where hebalanced a moment, becoming steady.

  He strained to listen and caught sounds of a man's breath expelled ingrunts. The doorway was not six feet from the place where he had haltedand he eyed it calculatingly, noting the footing he must cross, lickinghis lips, eyes strained wide open. He took the first step forward andhalted, hand against the wall still to maintain his balance; then onagain, lifting the foot slowly, setting it down with great pains,putting his weight on it carefully....

  And then nervous tension snapped. He could no longer hold himself backand with a lunge he reached the door, gripped the casing with his lefthand and, crouching, swung himself into the doorway, pistol extendedbefore him, coming to a halt with an inarticulate, sobbing cry thatmight have been hate or chagrin or only fright.... For the man hecovered with that weapon was a stranger, an individual he had never seenbefore, sitting in a chair, back to him, his pale, startled face turnedover the near shoulder, giving the intruder frightened gaze forfrightened gaze.

  For a moment Lytton remained swaying in the doorway, bewildered, unableto think. Then, he saw that the other man was bound to his chair, hishands behind him, and he let go his hold on the casing, straightenedand put one foot over the threshold. He spoke the first words,

  "Who are you?"--in a tone just above a whisper, leaning forward, sensingin a measure an explanation of this situation. And because of thi
sintuitive flash of comprehension, he did not give the other opportunityto answer his first question, but said quickly, lowly, "What are youdoing here?"

  Benny looked at him, studying, a covered craftiness coming into his faceto obliterate the anxiety, the rebelliousness that had been there. Hissemi-hysteria was gone, his cold, hard determination to carry hismission to its conclusion had reasserted itself but covered, this time,by cunning. He realized what had happened, knew that Lytton had expectedto find another there, he saw that he was ready to kill on sight, and inthe situation the miner read a way out for himself, a method ofattaining his own ends. So he said,

  "I'm takin' a little rest; can't you see?"--ironical in his answer toLytton's question, impatient when he put his own counter query.

  He wrenched at the bonds angrily and, partly from the exertion, partlyfrom the rage that rose within him, his face colored darkly.

  Lytton stepped further into the room, approaching Lynch's chair, lookingclosely into his face, gun hand half lowered.

  "Who tied you up?" he asked in a whisper, for his mind was centeredabout a single idea; the probable presence of Bayard and his relation tothis man who was some one's prisoner.

  Benny looked down at the floor and leaned over and again tugged at theknots for he dared not reveal his face as he growled,

  "A damn dirty cowpunch!"

  The other man said nothing; waited, obviously for more information.

  "His name's Bayard," Benny muttered.

  He rendered the impression that he regarded that specific information asof no consequence, but he heard the catch of a sound in Lytton's throatand saw him shift his footing nervously.

  "How long ago?" he asked.

  "Too damn long to sit here like this!"--in anger that was not simulated,for with every word that passed between them, Benny felt his reasonslipping, felt that if this situation continued long enough he must risewith the chair bound fast to him and try to do harm to this other man.

  "Where'd he go?"

  Lytton bent low as he whispered excitedly and his gun hand hung looselyat his side.

  Benny shook his head.

  "I dunno," he said. "He went off some'res, but he won't be gone long,that's a good bet! He was up to somethin'--God knows what. Guess hethought I'd spoil it."

  He looked up and saw the glitter of Lytton's eyes.

  "Up to something is he?" Lytton laughed, dryly, repeating Lynch's words."Up to something! He's always up to something. He's been up to somethingfor weeks, the wife stealing whelp ... and now if I know what I'mtalking about, he's up _against_ something!"

  "Wife stealer, is he?" Benny laughed as he put that question and wassatisfied when he saw Ned's jaw muscles bulge. "That's his latest, isit?"

  Lytton looked at him pointedly.

  "You know him pretty well, too?" he asked.

  "Know him! Do I know him? Look at this!"--with a slight lift of hisbound hands. "That's how much I know him.... I seem to have a fairenough acquaintance, don't I?

  "Say, _hombre_, you turn me loose an' set here an' I'll pack him in toyou ... on my back ... if you're lookin' for him that way!"

  Lytton looked quickly about; then stood still to listen; the silence wasnot broken and he stared back at the bound man, a new interest in hisface, as he framed his hasty diplomacy.

  "Do you mean you've ... got a fight with this man? With Bayard?"

  Benny moved from side to side in his chair and forced a laugh.

  "Have I?" he scoffed. "Have I? You just wait until I get loose an' getmy fingers on _him_. You'll think it's a fight, party.... But I'm in afine way to do anythin' now!"

  He looked through the front doorway, out down the sharp draw that thetrail to the valley followed. Lytton stepped nearer to him and as hespoke his voice became eager and rapid,

  "I've a quarrel with him, too!" The craven in him drove him forward tothis newly offered hope, the hope of finding an ally, some one to sharehis burden of responsibility, some one he could hide behind, some one,perhaps, who might be inveigled into doing his fighting for him. "I camehere to hunt him down. When I came down that hill there,"--gesturing--"Ithought he was in here because I heard your chair move on the floor.When I jumped through that door and covered you, I expected he'd be hereand that I'd ... Well, that I'd square accounts with him for good....

  "I don't know what your fight with him is, but he's abused you; he's gotyou hogtied now. That you've a fight of some sort with him is enough forme.... Aren't two heads better than one?"--insinuatingly.

  The miner forced himself to meet that inquiring gaze steadily, but hisexpression of delight, of triumph, which came into his face was notforced, was not counterfeit, and he growled quickly:

  "I don't need any man's help in my fight ... when I got an even chance.My troubles are my own an' I'll tend to 'em, but, if you want to do me afavor, you'll cut these damn straps ... you'll give me a chance tofight, man to man!"

  He did not lie with those words; his inference might have been deceptionbut that chance to fight man to man was the dearest privilege he couldhave been offered.

  No primitive urge to punish with his own hands a man who had crossed himmade itself paramount with Lytton; he wanted Bayard to suffer, but themeans did not matter. If he could cause him injury and avoid theconsequence of personal accountability, so much the better, and it waswith a grunt of relief and triumph that he shoved the automatic into thewaist band of his pants, drew a knife from his pocket and grasped thetightly knotted straps.

  "You bet, I'll help anybody against that dirty--

  "Sit still!" he broke off, as Benny, quivering with excitement, strainedforward. "I'm likely to cut you if--"

  The blade slashed through the leather. Lynch floundered to his feet,free, alone in the room with the man he had deliberately planned tokill, and the overwhelming sense of impending achievement swept allcaution from him.

  He stumbled a step or two forward after the suddenly parting of thestraps set him free and then turned about to face Lytton, who stoodbeside the chair closing his knife. Behind the Easterner was thecupboard on which Bayard had placed Benny's gun, and the miner's firstidea should have been to restrain himself, to keep on playing astrategic game, to move carefully, deliberately until he was armed andcould safely show his hand.

  But such control was an impossibility. He faced Ned Lytton who stoodthere with an evil smile on his lips, and all the love for his deadfather, all the outraged sense of property rights, all the brooding, thewaiting, the accumulated tension caused something in him to swell untilhe felt a choking sensation, until the hate came into his face, until hedrew his clenched fists upward and shook his head and bellowed andcharged, madly, blindly, wanting only to have his hands on his enemy, totake his life as the first men took the lives of those who had done themwrong! The feel of perishing flesh in his palms ... that was what hewanted!

  With a shrill cry of fright, Lytton saw what happened. He saw the changecome over the face, the body, the manner of this man before him, sawLynch gather himself for the rush and, whipping his hand down to hisstomach as he backed and tried to run, he clutched for the weapon thatwould defend him from this new foe.

  But the hand did not close on the pistol butt then. His wrist was caughtin the clamp of incredibly powerful fingers that bound about it andwrenched it backward; the other hand was pinned to his side by anencircling arm and the breath was beaten from him as Lynch's impactsent them crashing into the wall.

  "You will, will you?" Benny snarled thickly. "Cheat an' steal an' ...lie."

  They strained so for a moment, faces close together, the eyes of theminer glittering hate, those of Lytton reflecting the mounting fear,that possessed him.

  "Who are you?" he screamed. "You ... you snake!"

  "I'm Lynch ... Lynch! Son of an old man you cheated an' killed!" Bennyshouted. "I've waited for years for this.... 'T was Bayard, th' man youhunted, tied me up so I couldn't ... kill you. But you ... walked intoyour own trap...."

  "You sna--"

  Ly
tton's word was cut off by the jerk the miner gave him, dragging himto the center of the floor, bending him backward, struggling to hold himwith one hand and secure the pistol with the other. Ned screamed againand drew his knee up with a vigorous snap, jamming it into Benny'sstomach, sending the breath moaning from him. For the following momentLytton held the upper hand but Lynch clung to him instinctively,unthinkingly, wrapping his arms and legs about Ned's body with adetermination to save himself until he could beat down the sickness thatthreatened to overwhelm him. He did hold on, but his grip had lost someof its strength and, when his vision cleared and his mind became agileagain, he felt Lytton's hand between their bodies, knew that it hadfastened on the weapon it had been seeking. He rallied his every forceto overcome that handicap.

  Ned's gun hand came free and he flung himself sideways in an effort toturn and yank himself from Lynch, but the miner closed on him, caughtthe forearm again in a mighty clamp of fingers and swept him smashingagainst the one window of the room. The glass went out with a crash anda jingle and the tough, dry wood of the frame snapped with a successionof sharp reports. Blood gushed down Lytton's cheek where a jagged panehad scratched the flesh as it fell and Lynch was conscious that warmmoisture spread over his own upper left arm.

  The Easterner braced against the window sill and grunted and squirmeduntil he forced his adversary back a body's breadth.... Then he kickedsharply, viciously and his boot toe crunched on Lynch's shin, sending aparalyzing pain through the limb. They swirled and staggered to the farend of the room in their struggles, the one bent on holding the other'sbody close to his to controvert its ceaseless efforts to worm away; andabove their heads was the gun, gripped by fingers that were in turnclinched in a huge, calloused palm and rendered helpless.

  "You snake!" Lytton cried again, and flung his head up sharply, catchingLynch under the chin with a sharp click of bone on bone.

  They poised an instant at that, lurched clumsily against the stove andsent it toppling from its legs while the pipe sections rattled hollowlydown about them, and a cloud of soot rose to fill their eyes. Theylunged into the wall again and hung against it a long, straining moment,breathless in their efforts; then, grunting as Lytton wriggled violentlyto escape, Benny steadily tightened his hold on him.

  Intervals of dogged waiting followed, after which came franticcontortions as they lost and gathered strength again. Lytton's face wascovered with blood and some of it smeared on Lynch's cheek. Sweat madetheir flesh glisten and then became mud as the soot mantled them.Occasionally one called out in a curse, or in an exclamation of pain,but much of the time their jaws were set, their lips tight, for bothknew that this fight was to the end; that their battle could finish inbut one of two ways.

  Each time they faced the cupboard Benny shot a glance at its top. Hisgun was there; to reach it was his first hope, but he dared notrelinquish for a fractional second his dogged grip on the other man'shand.

  Lytton renewed his efforts, kicking and bunting. They waltzed awkwardlyacross the floor on a diagonal and Benny, backing swiftly on to theoverturned chair to which he had been bound, tripped and lost hisbalance again. They went down with mingled cries, Lytton on top. For aninstant he retained the position and threatened to break away, but Bennyrolled over, hooking the other's limbs to helplessness with his own. Hewithdrew his right arm from about Lytton's waist and grappled for theman's throat while Ned writhed and kicked, flung his head from side toside and struck desperately with his own free fist against thethrottling fingers. He loosed one leg and threshed it frantically, founda bearing point against the wrecked stove, bowed his body with awracking effort and for an instant was out from under, restrained onlyby the hot, hard fingers about his gun hand. He strove to reach up andtransfer the pistol to his left, but Benny was the quicker and they roseto their feet, scrambling and snarling as they sought fresh holds.

  Lynch had the advantage of weight but Lytton's agility offset thehandicap. His muscles might not be able to endure so long a strain, butthey responded more quickly to his thoughts, took lightninglikeadvantage of any opportunity offered. The fact enraged Benny and, givingway to it, he called on his precious reserve of energy for a supereffort, lifted Ned from his feet and spun about as though he would dashhis body against the wall. But Ned met this new move with the strengthof the frenzied, and, when they had made three-quarters of the turn,Lynch was overbalanced; he stumbled, lurched and with a crash and a ripthey went against the battered old cupboard.

  The jolt steadied the men, but the big fixture, rocking slowly, wentover sideways with a smash of breaking dishes and a rattling, banging ofpans. And from its top, spinning and sliding across the cluttered floor,went Benny's big blue Colt gun.

  Both men saw at once and on sight of that other weapon their battlebecame reversed. Lynch, glassy eyed, struggled to extricate himself now,to retain his hold on Lytton's hand that held the automatic, but to freehis other, to stoop and recover his own revolver. Ned understood fullyon the first move. He wrenched repeatedly to gain use of the automatic,but he clung with arms and legs and teeth to Lynch ... wherever he couldfind purchase. He succeeded at first in working the fight back into acorner away from the revolver, but his strength was not lasting.

  Benny redoubled his efforts and slowly they shifted again toward thecenter of the room where the reflected sunlight made the blue metal ofthe Colt glisten as it lay in the wreckage. They both breathed aloud nowand Lytton moaned at each acute effort he made to meet and check hisenemy's moves. With painful slowness, with ominous steadiness, they madeback toward Lynch's objective, inch by inch, zigzagging across thefloor, hesitating, swaying backward, but always keeping on. The violenceof their earlier struggle had departed; they were more deliberate, morecautious, but the equality of their ability had gone. Lytton wasyielding.

  Benny got to within four feet of the revolver, gained another hand'sbreadth by a strain that set the veins of his forehead into purplewelts. He bent sideways, forcing Ned's right hand with its pistol slowlydown toward the floor. Then, with a slip and a scramble, Lytton leftoff his restraining hold, flung himself backward, spun his body aboutand with a cry of desperation put every iota of energy into an attemptto wrest his right hand from Benny's clutch.

  Lynch let him go, but with a motive; for as he released his grip, heswung his right fist mightily, following it with the whole weight of hisfalling body. The blow caught Lytton on the back of the neck, staggeredhim, sent him pitching sideways toward the doorway and as Lynch,pouncing to the floor on hands and knees, fastened his fingers on hisgun, Ned flashed a look over his shoulder, saw, knew that he could neverturn and fire in time, and plunged on through the doorway, falling facedownward into the dust, rolling over and fronting about ... out of theminer's sight ... pistol covering the door and broken window where Bennymust appear ... if he were to appear.

  And the miner, within the ruined room, knees bent, torso doubledforward, gun in his hand, cocked, uplifted, waited for some sound, someindication from out there. None came and he straightened slowly, backingagainst the wall, wiping the sweat from his eyes one at a time that hisvigilance might not be relaxed, gun ready to belch the instant Lyttonshould show himself ... if he were to show himself.

  So they watched, hidden from one another, each knowing that his enemywaited only for him to make a move, each aware that he could not bringthe other into range without exposing himself. After the bang andclatter of their hand to hand struggle, the silence was oppressive, andBenny, head turned to catch the slightest sound, thought that he couldhear the quick come and go of Lytton's breath.

  The man inside quivered with impatience; the one who waited in thatwhite sunlight cowered and paled as the flush of exertion ebbed from hisdaubed face. Benny, whose whole purpose in life centered about squaringhis account, as he saw it, with the man outside yearned to show himself,but held back, not through fear of harm, but because he knew that thefulfillment of his mission depended wholly upon his own bodily welfare.Lytton, quailing before the actual presence of great danger,
of meetinga foe on equal footing, of fighting without resort to surprise orfouling, wanted to be away, to be quit of the place at any cost. Hewould have run for it, but he knew that the sounds of his movementswould bring Lynch on his heels. He would have attempted to get away bystealth but he feared that he might encounter Bayard in any direction.He did not stop to think that he had no reason for fearing the cowman;his very guilt, his subconscious disrespect of self, made him regard anopen meeting with Bruce as one of danger.

  So for many minutes, the tension of the situation becoming greater, moreunbearable with each pulse beat.

  Then sounds--faint at first. The rattle of a stone rolling over rock,the distant swish of brush. A silent interval, followed by the sound ofa gasping cough; then, the faint, clear ring of a spur as the boot towhich it was strapped set itself firmly on solid footing.

  Within the house Lynch could not hear, but Lytton, alert to everypossibility, dreading even the sound of his own breathing, turned hishead sharply....

  There, below, making up the trail as fast as his exhausted limbs couldcarry him, came Bruce Bayard, hat in one hand, arms swinging widely ashe strained to climb faster. He turned an angle of the trail and for thespace of thirty yards the way led across a ledge of smooth, flat rock,screened by no trees and bearing no vegetation whatever.

  Fear again retreated from Lytton's heart before a fresh rush of wraththat blinded him and made him heedless. He whirled, leaving off hiswatching of the cabin door and window. His gun hand came up, slowly,carefully, while he gritted his teeth to steady his muscles. He sightedwith care, bringing all his knowledge of marksmanship to bear that thereshould be no error, that no possible luck of Bayard's should avail himanything....

  And from above and behind the cabin rose a woman's voice:

  "Look out, Bruce!"

  Just those words, but the bell-like quality of the voice itself, thehorror in its shrill tone carrying sharply to them, echoing andre-echoing down the gulch, struck a chill to the hearts of three men.

  The words had not left Ann's lips before the automatic in Ned's handleaped and flashed and the echo of the woman's warning cry was followedby the smashing reverberations of the shot. But her scream had availed;it had sent a tremor through Lytton's body even as he fired, and, asBayard halted abruptly in the center of the open space without barrierbefore him or weapon with which to answer, absolutely at Lytton's mercy,his hat was torn from his left hand.

  "You whelp!" Ned cried, and on the word took one more step forward,halted, dropped the weapon on its mark again and paused for the merestfraction of time. His muscles became plastic, as steady as stone underthe strain of this crisis. He did not hear the quick step on the kitchenfloor, he could not see Benny Lynch half fall through the doorway, butwhen the miner's gun, held stiffly out from his hip, roared and belchedand remained steady, ready to shoot again, Ned lowered the weapon just atrifle.

  A queer, strained grin came over his face and, standing erect, he turnedhis head stiffly, jerkily toward Benny who stood crouched and waiting.Then, very slowly, almost languidly, his gun hand lowered itself. Whenit was almost beside his thigh, the fingers opened and the pistoldropped with a light thud to the earth. Ned lifted the other hand to hischest and still grinning, as if a joke had been made at his expensewhich quite embarrassed him, he let his knees bend as though he wouldkneel. He did not follow out the movement. He wilted and fell. He triedto sit up, feebly, impotently. Then, he lay back with a quick sigh.

  The other two men stood fixed for a moment. Then, with a cry, Bayardstarted up the slope at a run. He did not look again at Benny, did notknow that the miner walked slowly forward to where Lytton had fallen.All he saw was the figure of a hatless woman, face covered with herhands, leaning against a great boulder twenty yards above the cabin, andhe did not take his eyes from her during one step of the flounderingrun.

  "Ann!" he called, as he drew near. "Ann!"

  She turned with a quick, terrified movement and looked at him. He sawthat her face was a mask, her eyes feverishly dry.

  "He didn't--"

  "No, Ann, he didn't," he answered, taking her hands in his, his voiceunsteady. "Benny ... he fired last ... an' there'll be no moreshootin'...."

  She swayed toward him.

  "I sent for you," she began, brushing the hair out of her eyes with theback of one hand.

  "An' I came, Ann."

  "I ... It was only chance ... that I saw him and ... screamed...."

  "But you did; an' it saved me."

  "I sent for you, Bruce.... To take me away ... from Ned.... To take meaway from him ... with you...."

  She stepped closer and with a quivering sigh lifted her arms wearily andclasped them about his neck, while Bayard, heart pounding, gathered herbody close against his as the tears came and great convulsions of griefshook her.

  He leaned back against the rock, holding her entire weight in his arms,and they were there for minutes, his lips caressing her hair, hertemples, her cheeks. Her crying quieted, and, when she no longer sobbedaloud, he turned his head to look downward.

  Benny Lynch was just then straightening from a stooping posture besideLytton. He turned away, took a cartridge from his belt, slipped it intothe chamber from which the empty piece of smoky brass had been removedand shoved the gun back into his holster. As it went home, he lookeddown at it curiously, stared a moment, drew it out again and examined itslowly, first one side, then the other. He shook his head and threw theweapon down the gulch, where it clattered on the rocks. After that, hewalked toward the house, and about his movements was an indication ofthe sense of finality, of accomplishment, that filled him.

  "I'll take you away, Sweetheart," Bayard whispered, gently. "But itwon't be necessary to take you ... away from Ned...."

  She shrank closer against him.