by Harold Titus
CHAPTER XIX
THE TRAILS UNITE
So it was that Ned Lytton ceased to be and with his going went allbarriers that had existed between Ann and Bruce. Each had played a partin the grim drama which ended with violence, yet to neither could anyecho of blame for Ned's death be attached. Their hands and hearts wereclean.
Ann's appeal to Bruce for help when Ned led her away from the ranch hadbeen made because she knew that real danger of some sort awaited Ned atthe Sunset mine; she had not considered herself or her own safety atall.
Bruce, for his part, had concentrated his last energy on averting thetragedy. He had looked for the moment on his love of Ann only as afactor which had helped bring about the crisis, thereby making himaccountable. To play the game as he saw it, to be squared with his ownconscience, he had risked everything, even his life, in his attempt tosave Lytton.
Ned's true self had come to the surface just long enough to answer allquestions that might have been raised after his death. In that lastexperience of his life he had risen above his cowardice. After hearingAnn's warning scream, he must have known that to fire on Bayard thesecond time meant his own death. Yet he was not dissuaded, just kept onattempting to satiate his lust for the rancher's life. So, utterlyrevealed, he died.
The fourth individual was to be considered--Benny Lynch. Through themonths that he had brooded over the injustice which sent his father to aquick end, through the weeks that he had planned to administer his ownjustice, through the straining days that he had waited to kill, a partof him had been stifled. That part was the kindly, deliberate, peaceloving Benny, and so surely as he was slow to anger he would have livedto find himself tortured by regret had he slain for revenge. As it was,he shot to save the life of a friend ... and only that. He lived tothank the scheme of things that had called on him to untangle the skeinwhich events had snarled about Bruce and the woman he loved ... for ittook from him the stain of killing for revenge.
Somehow, Bruce got Ann away from the Sunset mine that day. She was braveand struggled to bear up, but after the strain of those last weeks thefatigue of the ride Ned had forced her to take unnerved her and she waslike a child when they gained the Boyd ranch where she was taken to thematernal arms of the mistress of that house, to be petted and cried overand comforted.
In his rattling, jingling buckboard Judson Weyl drove out to the miningcamp and beside a rock-covered grave murmured a prayer for the soulwhich had gone out from the body buried there; when he drove away, hischin was higher, his face brighter, reflecting the thought within himthat an ugly past must be forgotten, that the future assured thosequalities which would make it forgettable.
News of the killing roused Yavapai. In the first hour the community'sattention was wholly absorbed in the actual affair at the mine, but, asthe story lost its first edge of interest, inquisitive minds commencedto follow it backward, to trace out the steps which had led to thetragedy.
Ann's true identity became known. The fact that Bayard had shelteredLytton was revealed. After that the gossip mongers insinuated andspeculated. No one had known what was going on; when men hide theirrelationships with others and with women it must be necessary to hidesomething, they argued.
And then the clergyman, waiting for this, came forward with his story.He had known; his wife had known. Nora, the girl who had gone, hadknown. No, there had been no deception in Bayard's attitude; merelydiscretion. With that the talk ceased, for Yavapai looked up to itsclergy.
Within the fortnight Ann boarded a train bound for the East. Her facehad not regained its color, but the haunted look was gone from her eyes,the tensity from about her lips. She was in a state of mental andspiritual convalescence, with hope and happiness in sight to hasten theprocess of healing. Going East for the purpose of explaining, of makingwhat amends she could for Ned's misdeeds, was an ordeal, but shewelcomed it for it was the last condition she deemed necessary to sether free.
"It won't be long," she said, assuringly, when Bruce stood before her tosay farewell, forlorn and lonely looking already.
"It can't be too quick," he answered.
"Impatient?"
"I'd wait till 'th' stars grow old an' th' sun grows cold'" he quotedwith his slow smile, "but ... it wouldn't be a pleasant occupation."
She looked at him earnestly.
"You might; you could," she whispered, "but _I_ wouldn't wait ... thatlong...."
* * * * *
Weeks had passed and October was offering its last glorious days. Notwith madly colored leaves and lazy hazes of Indian summer that are giftsto men in the hardwood belt, but with the golden light, the infinitedistances, the super silence which comes alone to Northern Arizona. Thegreen was gone from grasses and those trees which drop their foliagewere clothed only in the withered remains of leaves, but color ofincredible variety was there--the mauves, the lavendars, the blues andpurples and ochres of rock and soil, changing with the swinging sun,becoming bold and vivid or only a tint and modest as the light raysplayed across the valley from various angles. The air, made crystal bythe crisp nights, brought within the eyes' register ranges and peaksthat were of astonishing distance. The wind was most gentle, coming inleisurely breaths and between its sighs the silence was immaculate,ravished by no jar or hum; even the birds were subdued before it.
On a typical October morning, before the sun had shoved itself above theeastern reaches of the valley, two men awoke in the new bunkhouse thathad been erected at the Circle A ranch. They were in opposite beds, and,as they lifted their heads and stared hard at one another with thatmomentary bewilderment which follows the sleep of virile, active men,the shorter flung back his blankets and swung his feet to the floor. Herubbed his tousled hair and yawned and stretched.
"Awake!" he said, sleepily, and shook himself, "...awake,"--brightening. "Awake, for 'tis thy weddin' morn!"
The speaker was Tommy Clary and on his words Bruce Bayard grinnedhappily from his pillow.
"... weddin' morn ..." he murmured, as he sat up and reached for hisboots at the head of his bunk.
"Yes, you wake up this mornin', frisky an' young an' full of th' love oflife an' liberty, just like them pictures of th' New Year comin' in! An'by sundown you'll be roped an' tied for-good-an'-for-all-by-God, an' t'won't be long before you look like th' old year goin' out!"
He grinned, as he drew on his shirt, then dodged, as Bayard's heavy hatsailed at him.
"It's goin' to be th' other way round, Tommy," the big fellow cried."We're going to turn time backward to-day!"
"Yes, I guess _you_ are, all right," deliberated Tommy. "Marriage hasalways seemed to me like payin' taxes for somethin' you owned or goin'to jail for havin' too much fun; always like payin' for somethin'. Butyourn ain't. Not much."
Bruce laughed. They talked in a desultory way until they had dressed.Then Bayard walked to the other side of the room where a sheet had beentacked and hung down over bulky objects. He pulled it aside and stoodback that Tommy might see the clothing that hung against the wall.
"How's that for raiment?" he demanded.
Tommy approached and lifted the skirt of the black sack coat gingerly,critically. He turned it back, inspected the lining and then put hishand to his lips to signify shock.
"Oh, my gosh, Bruce! Silk linin'! You'll be curlin' your hair next!"
"Nothing too good for this fracus, Tommy. Best suit of clothes I couldget made in Prescott. Those shoes--patent leather!" He picked up one andblew a fleck of dust from it carefully. "Cost th' price of a pair ofboots an' don't look like they'd wear a mile." He reached into thepocket of the coat and drew out a small package, unrolling it todisplay a necktie. "Pearl gray, they call it, Tommy. An' swell as a citybartender's!" He waved it in triumph before the sparkling eyes of hispug-nosed friend.
"Gosh, Bruce, you're goin' to be done out like a buck peacock, cleanfrom your toes up. You--
"Say, what are you goin' to wear on your head?"
Bayard's hand dropped to his side and a cre
stfallen look crossed hisfeatures.
"I'm a sheepherder, if I didn't forget," he muttered.
"Holy Smoke, Bruce, you can't wear an ordinary cowpuncher hat with themvarnished shoes an' that there necktie an' that dude suit!"
"I guess I'll have to, or go bareheaded."
Tommy looked at him earnestly for he thought that this oversightmattered, and his simple, loyal heart was touched.
"Never mind, Bruce," he consoled. "It'll be all right, prob'ly. Shewon't--"
"You go out and make me a crown of mistletoe, Tommy. Why, she wouldn'tlike me not to be somethin' of my regular, everyday self. She'll likethese clothes, but she'll like my old hat, too!"
Tommy seemed to be relieved.
"Yes, maybe she will," he agreed. "She's kinda sensible, Bruce. Sheain't th' kind of a woman to jump her weddin' 'cause of a hat."
Bayard, in a sudden ecstasy of animal spirits, picked the small cowboyup in his arms and tossed him toward the ceiling, as if he were a child,and stopped only when Tommy wound his arms about his neck in astrangling clasp.
"Le'me down, an' le'me show you my outfit!" he cried. "Don't get stuckon yourself an' think you're goin' to be th' only city feller at thisparty!"
Breathlessly Bayard laughed as he put him down and followed him to thebunk where he had slept with his war-bag for a pillow. Tommy seatedhimself, lifted the sack to his lap and, with fingers to his lips forsilence, untied the strings.
"Levi's!" he whispered, hoarsely, as he drew out a pair of brand newoveralls and shook them out proudly. "I ain't a reg'lar swell like youare," he exclaimed, "but even if I am poor I wear clean pants atweddin's!"
He groped in the bag again and drew out a scarf of gorgeous pink silk.
"Ain't that a eligent piece of goods?" he demanded, holding it out inthe early sunlight.
"It is that, Tommy!"
"But that ain't all. Hist!"
He shifted about, hiding the bag behind his body that the surprise mightbe complete. Then, with a swift movement he held aloft proudly astiff-bosomed shirt.
"Ah!" he breathed as it was revealed entirely. "How's that for tony?"
"That's great!"
"Reg'lar armor plate, Bruce! I've gentled th' damn thing, too! Workedwith him 'n hour yesterday. He bucked an' rared an' tried to fall overbackwards with me, but I showed him reason after a while! Just provesthat if a man sets his mind on anythin' he can do it ... even if it'sbein' swell!"
Bruce laughed his assent and remarked to himself that the array ofsmudgy thumb prints about the collar band was eloquent evidence of thestruggle poor Tommy had experienced.
"But this!" the other breathed, plunging again into the bag. "This hereis--"
He broke short. "Why, you pore son-of-a-gun!" he whispered as heproduced his collar.
Originally it had been a three-inch poke collar, but it was bent andbroken and smeared on one side with a broad patch of dirty brown.
"Gosh a'mighty, Tommy, you've gone an' crippled your collar!" Bruce saidin rebuke.
"Crippled is right, an' that ain't all! Kind of a sick lookin' pinto, heis, with that bay spot on him." He looked up foolishly. "I ought to putthat plug in my pocket. You see, I rode out fast, an' this collar an' myeatin' tobacco was in th' bottom of th' bag tied on behind my saddle.Nig sweat an' it soaked through an' wet th' tobacco an' ... desecratedmy damn collar!"
He rose resolutely.
"A li'l thing like that can't make me quit!" he cried. "I rode this herething with its team-mate yesterday. I won't be stampeded by no changein color. I've done my family wash in every stream between th' SpanishPeaks an' California. I won't stop at this!"
He strode from the bunk house and Bruce, looking through the window, sawhim lift a bucket of water from the well and commence to scrub hisdaubed collar vigorously.
Smoke rose from the chimney of the ranch house and through the kitchendoorway Bayard saw a woman pass with quick, intent stride. It was Mrs.Boyd. She and Mrs. Weyl had arrived the day before to set the housearight and to deck the rooms in mountain greenery--mistletoe, juniperberries and other decorative growth.
The new bunkhouse, erected when plans for the wedding were first made,had been occupied for the first time by Bruce and Tommy that night.Tommy was to return in the spring and put his war-bag under the bunk forgood, because Bruce was going in for more cattle and would be unable tohandle the work alone.
A half hour later the men presented themselves for breakfast, to beutterly ignored by the bustling women. They were given coffee and steakand made to sit on the kitchen steps while they ate, that they might notbe in the way. Bruce was amused and rebuked the women gently for theseriousness with which they went about their work, but for Tommy thewhole procedure was a grave matter. He ate distractedly, hurriedly,covering his embarrassment by astonishing gastronomic feats, glancingsidelong at Bayard whenever the rancher spoke to the others, as thoughthose scarcely heeded remarks were something which made heavy demandsupon human courage.
The interior of the house had been changed greatly. The kitchen rangewas new, the walls were papered instead of covered with whitewash. Theroom in which Ned Lytton had slept and fretted and come back towardhealth was no longer a bed chamber. Its windows had been increased tofour that the light might be of the best. Its floor was painted andcarpeted with new Navajo blankets and a bear skin. A piano stood againstone wall and on either side of the new fireplace were shelves weightedwith books that were to be opened and read and discussed by the light ofthe new reading lamp which stood on the heavy library table.
Tommy was obviously relieved when his meal was finished. He drew a longsigh when, wiping his mouth on a jumper sleeve, he stepped from thehouse and followed Bruce toward the corral where the saddle horses atehay.
"It's a wonder you ain't ruined that horse, th' way you baby him," Claryremarked, when Bayard, brush in hand, commenced grooming Abe's sleekcoat. "Now, with my Nig horse there, I figure that if he's full inside,he's had his share. I'm afraid that if I brushed him every day he'd getdudish an' unreliable, like me.... I'm ready to do a lot of rarin' an'runnin' every time I get good an' clean!"
"I guess th' care Abe's had hasn't hurt him much," Bruce replied. "Hewas ready when the pinch came; th' groomin' I'd been givin' him didn'thave much to do with it, I know, but th' fact that we were pals ... thatcounted."
His companion sobered and answered.
"You're right, there, Bruce, he sure done some tall travelin' that day."
"If he hadn't been ready ... we wouldn't be plannin' a weddin' thisnoon. That's how much it counted!"
Tommy moved closer and twined his fingers in the sorrel's mane. Neitherspoke for a moment; then Clary blurted:
"She's got th' same kind of stuff, Bruce, or she wouldn't come throughneither. Abe made th' run of his life and wasn't hurt by it; she wentthrough about four sections of hell an'.... She looked like a Texas rosewhen she got off th' train last week!"
Bayard rapped the dust from his brush and answered:
"You're right; they're alike, Tommy. It takes heart, courage, to gothrough things that Ann an' Abe went through ... different kinds. Itwasn't so much what happened at th' mine. It was th' years she'd put in,abused, fearin', tryin' not to hate. That was what took th' sand, th'nerve. If she hadn't been th' right sort, she'd have crumpled up underit."
Clary said nothing for a time but eyed Bruce carefully, undisguisedaffection in his scrutiny. Then he spoke,
"My guess is that you two'll set a new pace on this here trail tohappiness!"
* * * * *
The forenoon dragged. Bruce completed the small tasks of morning andhunted for more duties to occupy his hands. The women would not allowhim in the house, and beneath his controlled exterior he was in a furyof impatience. From time to time he glanced speculatively at the sun;then referred to his watch to affirm his judgment of the day's growth.
Ann was still at the Boyd ranch and old Hi was to drive her to her newhome before noon. Judson Weyl, who was to m
arry them, had been calledaway the day before but had given his word that he would leave Yavapaiin time to reach the ranch with an ample margin, for Bruce insisted thatthere be no hitch in the plans. Long before either was due the bigrancher frequently scanned the country to the north and east for signsof travelers.
"You're about as contented as a hen with a lost chicken," Tommyobserved.
Bruce smiled slightly and scratched his chin.
"Well, I'd hate to have anything delay this round-up."
Another hour dragged out before his repeated gazing was rewarded. Then,off in the east, a smudge of dust resolved itself into a team and wagon.
"That's Hi with Ann!" he said excitedly. "Our sky pilot ought to be heresoon."
"Lots of time yet," Tommy assured. "He won't be leavin' town for acouple of hours."
"Maybe not, Tommy, but I don't trust that chariot of fire. I'm afraidit'll give its death rattle almost any time, dump our parson in th' roadan' stop our weddin'. That'd be bad!"
Tommy roused to the dire possibilities of the situation.
"It would," he agreed. "It takes a preacher, a fool or a brave man totrust himself in a ve-hicle like that. He ought to come horseback. He--
"Say, Bruce, why can't I saddle up an' lead a horse in after him? I canmake it easy. That'd keep you from worryin'. Matter of fact, between th'women in th' house an' you with your fussin' outdoors I'm afraid mynerves won't stand it all! I've been through stampedes on th' Pecos, an'blizzards in Nebraska; I've been lost in Death Valley an' I've had asilver tip try to box my ears, but I just naturally can't break myselfto p'lite society!"
"I don't believe you, but your idea wins," Bayard laughed. "Go on afterhim. Take ... Say, you take Abe for him to ride back! That's th' thingto do. You put th' parson on Abe an' we'll be as certain to start thisfracas on time as I am that his 'bus is apt to secede from itself on th'road any minute!"
Bruce sent Abe away with Tommy. Ann arrived. Twenty minutes before thetime set for the simple ceremony Abe brought the clergyman through thebig gate of the Circle A with his swinging trot, ears up, head alert, asthough with conscious pride.
"The fact is, Bruce, I'd have been late, if Tommy hadn't come after me,"Weyl confessed as he dismounted.
"So? I've been expectin' somethin' would happen to you. What was it?"
"Why, Nicodemus, my off horse, kicked four spokes out of a front wheeland, when we were putting on another, we found that the axle washopelessly cracked."
"I knew that chariot would quit sometime, but this horse, th' stallionshod with fire ... he don't know what quittin' is!"
* * * * *
The sun was slipping toward the western horizon when the last of the fewwho had attended the ceremony passed from sight. For a long time Bruceand Ann stood under the ash tree, watching them depart, hearing the lastsounds of wheel and hoof and voice break in on the evening quiet.
The girl was wonderfully happy. The strained look about her eyes, thequick, nervous gestures that had characterized her after the tragedy ofNed Lytton's death and before her return to the East, were gone. Asplendid look of peace was upon her; one life was gone, thrown away as apiece of botched work; another was opening.
Far away to the north and eastward snow-covered peaks, triplets, roseagainst the bright blue of the sky. As Bruce and Ann looked they lostthe silver whiteness and became flushed with the pink of dying day. Thedistant, pine-covered heights had become blue, the far draws weregathering their purple mists of evening. The lilac of the valley'scoloring grew fainter, more delicate, while the deep mauves of a rangeof hills to the southward deepened towards a dead brown. Over all, thatincomparable silence, the inexplicable peace that comes with evening inthose big places. No need to dwell further on this for you who havewatched and felt and become lost in it; useless to attempt more for theuninitiate.
Ann's arm slipped into her husband's and she whispered:
"Evening on Manzanita! Is there anything more beautiful?"
Bayard smiled.
"Not unless it's daytime," he said. "You know, Ann, for a long, longtime it's seemed to me as though there's been a shadow on that valley.Even on the brightest days it ain't looked like it should. But now....Why, even with the sun goin' down, it seems to me as if that shadow'slifted!
"I feel freer, too. This fenced-in feelin' that I've had is gone. I ...Why, I feel like life, the world, was all open to me, smilin' at me,waitin' for me, just like that old valley out there.
"What do you s'pose makes it so?"
"Must I tell you?" she asked, reaching her arms upward for his neck.
"Tell me," he said. "With your lips, but without words. That's a kind ofriddle, I guess! Do you know the answer?"
Indeed, she did!
THE END
* * * * *
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* * * * *
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Beyond the Marne
By HENRIETTE CUVRU-MAGOT
Mademoiselle Henriette is the little friend and neighbor of Miss MildredAldrich (author of "A Hilltop on the Marne," "On the Edge of the WarZone," etc.), who came to Miss Aldrich the day after the Germans weredriven away on the other side of the Marne to suggest that they visitthe battlefield. Her book might be called truly a companion volume to "AHilltop on the Marne."
* * * * *
War
Covered With Mud and Glory
_A Machine Gun Company in Action_
By GEORGES LAFOND
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From the Battle of the Marne to the Entrance of the Stars and Stripes
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* * * * *
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You Who Can Help
Paris Letters of an American Army Officer's Wife, from August, 1916, toJanuary, 1918
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ROGER BATCHELDER
A companion volume to "Camp Devens," and like it, a book that fills along-felt want.
Illustrated with p
hotographs
_Other volumes in the AMERICAN CAMPS SERIES in preparation_
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War Poetry
Buddy's Blighty and other Verses from the Trenches
By LIEUTENANT JACK TURNER, M. C.
Here is a volume of poems that move the spirit to genuine emotion,because every line pictures reality as the author knows it. The range ofsubjects covers the many-sided life of the men who are fighting in theGreat War,--the happenings, the emotions, the give and take, the tragedyand the comedy of soldiering.
"I have read Robert Service's 'Rhymes of a Red Cross Man'--and _all_ the verses written on the war--but in my opinion 'Buddy's Blighty,' by Jack Turner, is the best thing yet written--because it's the truth."
_Private Harold R. Peat_
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The Welfare Series
The Field of Social Service
Edited by PHILIP DAVIS, in collaboration with Maida Herman
An invaluable text-book for those who ask, "Just what can I do in socialwork and how shall I go about it?"
Street-Land
By PHILIP DAVIS, assisted by Grace Kroll
What shall we do with the 11,000,000 children of the city streets? Aquestion of great national significance answered by an expert.
Consumption
By JOHN B. HAWES, 2d, M.D.
A book for laymen, by an eminent specialist, with particularconsideration of the fact that the problem of tuberculosis is first ofall a human problem.
One More Chance
An Experiment in Human Salvage
By LEWIS E. MacBRAYNE and JAMES P. RAMSAY
Human documents from the experiences of a Massachusetts probationofficer in the application of the probation system to the problems ofmen and women who without it would have been permanently lost to usefulcitizenship.
_Other volumes in preparation_
