Bruce of the Circle A Part 30

"Well, we'll quit this place," he said with a swagger. "We'll clear out, you and I.... I've had enough of this d.a.m.ned treachery; trying to steal you, 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 to rest, to be quiet, to be left alone, yet she knew that much remained to be endured. She had never rebelled before; she had always compromised and she felt that after her great demonstration of self-sufficiency nothing could matter a great deal. Ned had said that they would quit this place. She had no idea of resisting, of even arguing. It was easier to go, to delay a further break, for their journey would not be far, she felt, 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 menaced her was of much less consequence. Why fear?

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

"Leave that alone!" he ordered.

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

"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 thing viciously, sending it cras.h.i.+ng against the wall.

"The d.a.m.ned snake!" he muttered. "He brought you in here, did he? Into this 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. Come on, now!"

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

"He's left only that d.a.m.n stallion," she heard Ned say. "Well, we'll take him."

"What for, Ned?" she asked dully, walking after him as he strode toward the corral and catching his sleeve, shaking it for his attention. "Why are 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 two of 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 house and she attempted no answer, just stood outside while Lytton entered the corral, bridled the curious stallion and turned to lead him out. Abe would not move. He would not even turn about and the man's strength was not 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, but Abe only threw up his head and blinked rapidly. The ears were flat and he switched his tail when Lytton again tried to drag him out. He would not 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 see you abuse him."

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

Ten minutes later, the woman mounted on the stallion, they rode through the 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 them away from the wagon tracks, out into the great expanse of valley.

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

"Back to my castle!" he mocked. "Back to the mine, where n.o.body'll come to get you!"

On that, Bayard's unexplained warning occurred to the girl and she felt her 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 her face better. She answered with a nod. "And why didn't he want me to go back 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, does he? What's his interest in the Sunset mine? Do you know? No? Well, we'll find out by to-morrow night, d.a.m.n him!"

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

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

"We'll put up here," Ned growled. "We'll make on before daylight ... if we can get this d.a.m.ned horse to move!"

He drew back a fist as though he would strike the stallion, for the sorrel had r.e.t.a.r.ded them, insisting on turning and trying to start back toward the Circle A ranch, refusing to increase his pace beyond a crawling walk, held to that only by Ann's coaxing, for she knew that if she gave the animal his head and let him turn back, her husband would be 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 as only some process of transition; it was unpleasant, but great happiness was not far off. Of that she was certain.

But she could not let Ned go on to his mine. Danger of some sort waited there and it was impossible for her to allow him to walk into it. She had planned while they rode that afternoon just how she would make the first move to prevent his reaching the Sunset and as her husband hammered on the door of the house to rouse the occupants she drew a pin from her hat, shoved herself back in the saddle, and, while he was parleying with the roused rancher, scratched swiftly and nervously on the smooth leather.

CHAPTER XVI

THE MESSAGE ON THE SADDLE

The hours he spent in Yavapai that night were memorable ones for Bruce Bayard. He rode the distance to town at a slow walk and arrived after the sun had set. He had no appet.i.te for food but, nevertheless, after was.h.i.+ng in the kitchen, he went into the hotel dining room and talked absently to Nora.

It did not occur to him to mention what had happened that afternoon to the girl. That had been a matter too purely personal to permit its discussion with another. While he talked to her, his mind was wholly occupied with thoughts other than those of which he spoke and he did not see that the waitress was studying him carefully, reading what was written on his face. Nora knew that Ann was gone; she knew that she had taken with her a new conviction, a new courage, and the fact that Bayard had left her at his ranch, probably with Ned Lytton, puzzled the girl.