Bruce of the Circle A, Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  THE LODGER NEXT DOOR

  "Now, this is fine, Uncle," Bayard said, as he stood erect and surveyedthe lax body he had deposited on the bed.

  His great height made the low, tiny room seem lower, smaller, and in thepale lamplight the fat hotel proprietor peered up into his face withlittle greedy green eyes, chewing briskly with his front teeth,scratching the fringe of red whiskers speculatively.

  "Well, Bayard, you're all right," he blurted out, huskily, as if he hadreached that decision only after lengthy debate. "Th' room's a dollar,but I'll wait till mornin' as a favor to you. I wouldn't trust mostcowboys, but your reputation's gild-edged, fine!"

  "Thanks! Seein' nobody's around to overhear, I'll take a chance an'return th' compliment."

  And as the other, turning in the doorway, looked back to determine, ifhe could, the meaning of that last remark, Bayard stooped and gingerlylifted the wounded forearm from which the sleeve had been rolled back.

  "What a lookin' human bein'!" he whispered slowly, a moment later,shaking his head and letting his whole-hearted disgust find expressionin deep lines about his mouth, as he scanned the bloated, bruised,muddied face below him. "You've got just about as low down, Pardner, asanybody can get! Lord, that face of yourn would scare the Devilhimself ... even if it is his own work!"

  He kicked out of his chaps, flung off jumper and vest, rolled up hissleeves and, turning to the rickety washstand, sloshed water into thebowl from the cracked pitcher and vigorously applied lather to his handsand forearms. From the next room came the sounds of a person moving; thecreak of a board, the tinkle of a glass, even the low brushing of agarment being hung on a hook, for the partitions were of inch boardscovered only by wallpaper.

  "Th' privacies of this here establishment ain't exactly perfect, arethey?" the man asked, raising his voice and smiling. "I've got a friendhere who needs to have things done for him an' he may wake up andobject, but it ain't nothin' serious so don't let us disturb your sleepany more'n you can help," he added and paused, stooped over, to listenfor an answer.

  None came; no further sound either; the person in the other room seemedto be listening, too. Bayard, after the interval of silence, shruggedhis shoulders, filled the bowl with clean water, placed it on awooden-bottomed chair which held the lamp and sat down on the edge ofthe bed with soap and towels beside him.

  "I'll wash out this here nick, first," he muttered. "Then, I'll scrubup that ugly mug.... Ugh!" He made a wry face as he again looked at thedistorted, smeared countenance.

  He bathed the forearm carefully, then centered his attention on thewound.

  "Ho-ho! Went deeper than I thought.... Full of dirt an' ... clot ...an'...."

  He stopped his muttering and left off his bathing of the wound suddenlyand clamped his fingers above the gash, for, as he had washed away theclotted blood and caked dirt, a thin, sharp stream of blood had spurtedout from the ragged tear in the flesh.

  "He got an artery, did he? Huh! When you dropped, you laid on that armor you'd be eatin' breakfast to-morrow in a place considerable hotterthan Arizona," Bayard muttered.

  He looked about him calculatingly as though wondering what was best todo first, and the man on the bed stirred uneasily.

  "Lay still, you!"

  The other moaned and squirmed and threatened to jerk his arm free.

  "You don't amount to much, Pardner, but I can't hold you still and playdoctor by myself if ...

  "Say, friend,"--raising his voice. "You, in th' next room; would youmind comin' in here a minute? I've took down more rope than I handleright easy."

  He turned his head to listen better and through the thin partition cameagain the sound of movements. Feet stepped quickly, lightly, on thenoisy floor; a chair was shoved from one place to another, a dooropened, the feet came down the hall, the door of the room in whichBayard waited swung back ... and Ann Lytton stood in the doorway.

  For a moment their eyes held on one another. The woman's lips werecompressed, her nostrils dilated in excitement, her blue eyes wide andapprehensive, although she struggled to repress all these evidences ofemotional disturbance. The man's jaw slacked in astonishment, thentightened, and his chest swelled with a deep breath of pleased surprise;he experienced a strange tremor and subconsciously he told himself thatshe was as rare looking as he had thought she must be from theimpression he had received down in the dark hallway.

  "Why ... why, I didn't think you ... it might be a lady in there, Miss,"he said in slow astonishment. "I thought it was a man ... because ladiesdon't often get in here. I ... this is a nasty mess an' maybe you betternot tackle it ... if ... if you could call somebody to help me.... Nora,th' girl downstairs, would come, Miss--"

  "I can help you," she said, and a flush rushed into her cheeks, which atonce relieved and accentuated their pallor. It was as though he hadaccused her of a weakness that she resented.

  Bayard looked her over through a silent moment; then moved one footquickly and, eyes still holding her gaze, his left hand groped for atowel, found it, shook it out and spread it over the face of thedrunken, wounded man he had called her to help him tend.

  "He ain't a beauty, Miss," he explained, relieved that the countenancewas concealed from her. "I hate to look at him myself an' I'd hate tohave a girl ... like you have to look at him ... I'm sure he would,too,"--as though he did not actually mean the last.

  The woman moved to his side then, eyes held on the wound by evidenteffort. It was as if she were impelled to turn her gaze to that coveredface and fought against the desire with all the will she could muster.

  "You see, Miss, this artery's been cut an' I've got my thumb shut downon it here," he indicated. "This gent got shot up a trifle to-night an'we--you an' me--have got to fix him up. I can't do it alone because he'sbleedin' an' he's lost more than's healthy for him now.

  "It sure is fine of you to come, Miss."

  He looked at her curiously and steadily yet without giving offense. Itwas as though he had characterized this woman for himself, was thinkingmore about the effect on her of the work they were to do than of thatwork itself. He was interested in this newcomer; he wanted to know abouther. That was obvious. He watched her as he talked and his manner madeher know that he was very gentle, very considerate of her peace of mind,in spite of the quality about him which she could not understand, whichwas his desire to know how she would act in this unfamiliar, tryingsituation.

  "Now, you take that towel and roll it up," he was saying. "Yes, th' longway.... Then, bring that stick they use to prop up th' window--"

  "It's a tourniquet you want," she broke in.

  He looked up at her again.

  "Tourniquet.... Tourniquet," he repeated, to fix the new word in hismind. "Yes, that's what I want: to shut off the blood."

  She folded the towel and brought the stick. From her audible breathingBayard knew that she was excited, but, otherwise, she had ceased to giveindication of the fact.

  "Loop it around and tie a knot," he said.

  "Is that right?" she asked, in a voice that was too calm, too wellcontrolled for the circumstances.

  "Yes, it's all right, Miss. How about you?"--a twinkle in his eye. "Ifthis ... if you don't think you can stand it to fuss with him--" hebegan, but she cut him off with a look that contained something of aquality of reassurance, but which was more obviously a rebuff.

  "I said I could help you. Why do you keep doubting me?"

  "I don't; I'm tryin' to be careful of your feelings,"--averting his eyesthat she might not see the quick fire of appreciation in them. "Will youtighten it with that stick, now, Miss?"

  The man on the bed breathed loudly, uncouthly, with now and then ashort, sharp moan. The sour smell of stale liquor was about him; the armand hand that had been washed were the only clean parts of his body.

  "Now you twist it," Bayard said, when she was ready, although he couldhave done it easily with his free hand.

  She grasped the stick with determination and, as she turned it qu
icklyto take up the slack in the loop, Bayard leaned back, part of his weighton the elbow which kept the legs of the unconscious man from threshingtoo violently as the contrivance shut down on his arm. His attention,however, was not for their patient; it was centered on the girl's handsas they manipulated stick and towel. They were the smallest hands, thetrimmest, he had ever seen. The fingers were incredibly fine-boned andabout them was a nicety, a finish, that was beyond his experience; yet,they were not weak hands; rather, competent looking. He watched theirquick play, the spring of the tendons in her white wrist and, with a newinterest, detected a smooth white mark about the third finger of herleft hand where a ring had been. He looked into her intent face again,wondering what sort of ring that had been and why it was no longerthere; then, forgot all about it in seeing the tight line of her mouthand finding delight in the splendid curve of her chin.

  "You hate to do it," he thought, "but you're goin' to see it through!"

  "There!" she said, under her breath. "Is that tight enough?"

  He looked quickly away from her face to the wound and released thepressure of his thumb.

  "Not quite. It oozes a little."

  He liked the manner in which she moved her head forward to indicate herresolve, when she forced the cloth even more tightly about the arm. Theinjured man cried aloud and sought to roll over, and Bayard saw thegirl's mouth set in a firmer cast, but in other ways she bore herself asif there had been no sound or movement to frighten or disturb her.

  "That'll do," he told her, watching the result of the pressurecarefully. "Now, would you tear that pillow slip into strips wide enoughfor a bandage?" She shook the pillow from the casing. "That'll tickleUncle, downstairs," he added. "It's worth two bits, but he can charge mea dollar for it."

  She did not appear to hear this last; just went on tearing strips withhands that trembled ever so little and his gray eyes lighted with apeculiar fire. Weakness was present in her, the weakness ofinexperience, brought on by the sight of blood, the presence of astrange man of a strange type, the proximity of that muttering, filthyfigure with his face shrouded from her; but, behind that weakness, wasan inherent strength, a determination that made her struggle with allher faculties to hide its evidences; and that courage was the qualitywhich Bayard had sought in her. Only, he could not then appreciate itstrue proportions.

  "Is this enough?" she asked.

  "Plenty. I can manage alone now, if--"

  "But I might as well help you through with this!"

  She had again detected his doubt of her, discerned his motive in givingher an avenue of graceful escape from the unpleasant situation; shethought that he still mistrusted her stamina and her stubborn refusal togive way to any weakness set the words on her lips to cut him short.

  "Well, if you want to," he said, soberly, "you can keep this thingtight, while I wash this hole out an' bind it up.... I wouldn't look atit, if I was you; you ain't used to it, you know."

  He looked her in the eye, on that last advice, for a moment. Sheunderstood fully and, as she took the stick in her hand to keep theblood flow checked, she averted her face. For a breath he looked at thestray little hairs about the depression at the back of her neck. Then,to his work.

  He was gentle in cleansing the wound, but he could not touch the rawflesh without giving pain and still accomplish his end, and, on thefirst pressure of his fingers, the man writhed and twitched and jerkedat the arm, drawing his knees up spasmodically.

  "I'll have to set on him, Miss," Bayard said.

  He did so, straddling the man's thighs and leaning to the right, closeagainst the woman's stooping body. He grasped the cold wrist with onehand and washed the jagged hurt quickly, thoroughly. The man he heldprotested inarticulately and struggled to move about. Once, the towelthat hid his face was thrown off and Bayard replaced it, glad that thegirl's back had been turned so she did not see.

  It was the crude, cruel surgery of the frontier and once, towards theend, the tortured man lifted his thick, scarcely human voice in acursing phrase and Bayard, glancing sharply at the woman, murmured,

  "I beg your pardon, Miss ... for him."

  "That's not necessary," she answered, and her whisper was thin, weak.

  "You ain't goin' to faint, are you?" he asked, in quick apprehension,ceasing his work to peer anxiously at her.

  "No.... No, but hurry, please; it is very unpleasant."

  He nodded his head in assent and began the bandaging, hurriedly. He madethe strips of cloth secure with deft movements and then said,

  "There, Miss, it's all over!"

  She straightened and turned from him and put a hand quickly to herforehead, drew a deep breath as of exasperation and moved an uncertainstep or two toward the door.

  "All right," she said, with a half laugh, stopping and turning about."I was afraid ... you see! I'm not accustomed...."

  Bayard removed his weight from the other man and sat again on the edgeof the bed.

  "Lots of men, men out here in this country, would have felt the same way... only worse," he said, reassuringly. "It takes lots of sand to fusswith blood an' man meat until you get used to it. You've got the sand,Miss, an' I sure appreciate what you've done. He will, too."

  She turned to meet his gaze and he saw that her face was colorless andstrained, but she smiled and asked,

  "I couldn't do less, could I?"

  "You couldn't do more," he said, staring hard at her, giving theimpression that his mind was not on what he was saying. "More for me ormore for ... a carcass like that." A tremor of anger was in his voice,and resentment showed in his expression as he turned to look at thecovered face of the heavily breathing man. "It's a shame, Miss, to makeyour kind come under the same roof with a ... a thing like he is!"

  After a moment she asked,

  "Is he so very bad, then?"

  "As bad as men get ... and the best of us are awful sinful."

  "Do you ... do you think men ever get so bad that anyone can be hurt bybeing ... by coming under the same roof with them?"

  He shook his head and smiled again.

  "I'd say yes, if it wasn't that I'd picked this _hombre_ out of th'ditch an' brought him here an' played doctor to-night. You never cantell what you'll believe until the time comes when you've got to believesomething."

  A silent interval, which the woman broke.

  "Is there anything else I can do for you now?"

  He knew that she wanted to go, yet some quality about her made himsuspect that she wanted to stay on, too.

  "No, Miss, nothin' ..." he answered. "I've got to go tend to my horse.He's such a baby that he won't leave his tracks for anybody so long's heknows I'm here, so I can't send anybody else to look after him. Butyou've done enough. I'll wait a while till somebody else comes along towatch--"

  "No, no! let me stay here ... with him."

  "But--"

  "I came here to help you. Won't you let me go through with it?"

  He thought again that it was her pride forcing her on; he could not knowthat the prompting in her was something far deeper, something tragic. Hesaid:

  "Why if you want to, of course you can. I won't be gone but a minute.I've let up on this pressure a little; we'll keep letting up on itgradual ... I've done this thing before. He's got to be watched, though,so he don't pull the bandages off and start her bleeding again."

  The woman seated herself on the chair as he turned to go.

  "It'll only be a minute," he assured her again, hesitating in thedoorway. "I wouldn't go at all, only, when my horse is the kind of a palhe is, I can't let him go hungry. See?"

  "I see," she said, but her tone implied that she did not, that suchdevotion between man and beast was quite incomprehensible ... or elsethat she had given his word no heed at all, had only waited impatientlyfor him to go.

  He strode down the hallway and she marked his every footfall, heard himgo stumping and ringing down the stairs two at a time, heard him leavethe porch and held her breath to hear him say,

  "Well, Old T
imer, I didn't plan to be so long."

  Then, the sound of shod hoofs crossing the street at a gallop.

  She closed her eyes and let her head bow slowly and whispered,

  "Oh, God ... there _is_ manhood left!"

  She sat so a long interval, suffering stamped on her fine forehead,indicated in the pink and white knots formed from her clenched hands.Then, her lips partly opened and she lifted her head and looked long atthe covered face of the man on the bed. Her breath was swift and shallowand her attitude that of one who nerves herself for an ordeal. Once, shelooked down at the hand on the bed near her and touched with her ownthe hardened, soiled fingers, then gave a shake to her head that wasalmost a shudder, straightened in her chair and muttered aloud,

  "He said ... I had the sand...."

  She leaned forward, stretched a hand to the towel which covered theman's face, hesitated just an instant, caught her breath, lifted theshrouding cloth and gave a long, shivering sigh as she sat back in herchair.

  At that moment Bruce Bayard in the corral across the street, pulled thebridle over his sorrel's ears. He slung the contrivance on one arm andheld the animal's hot, white muzzle in his hands a moment. He squeezedso tightly that the horse shook his head and lifted a fore foot inprotest and then, alarmed, backed quickly away.

  "... I didn't intend it, Abe," the man muttered. "... I was thinkin'about somethin' else."