"Besides, my outfit ain't a place for a woman. He can get along because he's lived like we do, but you couldn't. All I got is one room,"--hesitating as if he were embarrassed--"and no comforts for ... a lady like you, ma'am." "But my place is with him! That's why I've come here." "Would your bein' with him help? Could you do anything but stir him up?" "Why of--" "Have you ever been able to, ma'am?" She stopped, unable to get beyond that fact. "If you ain't, just remember that he's a hundred times worse than he was when you had your last try at him." She squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other. Her chin trembled sharply but she mastered the threatened breakdown. "What would you have me do?" she asked, weakly, and at that Bayard swung his arms slightly and smiled at her in relief. "Can't you stay right here in Yavapai and wait until the worst is over? It won't be so very long." "I might. I'll try. If you think best ... I will, of course." "I'll come in town every time I get a chance and tell you about him," he promised, eagerly. "I'll ... I'll be glad to," he hastened to add, with a drop in his voice that made her look at him. "Then, when he's better, when he's able to make it around the place on foot, when you think you can manage him, I s'pose you can go off to his mine, then." He ceased to smile and smote one hip in a manner that told of his sudden feeling of hopelessness. He walked toward the bed again and Ann watched him. As he passed the lamp on the chair, she saw the fine ripple of his thigh muscles under the close-fitting overalls, saw with eyes that did not comprehend at first but which focused suddenly and then scrutinized the detail of his big frame with an odd uneasiness. He turned on her and said irrelevantly, as if they had discussed the idea at length, "I'm glad to do it for you, ma'am." He stared at her steadily, seeming absorbed by the thought of service to her, and the woman, after a moment, removed her gaze from his. "It's so good of you!" she said, and became silent when he gave her no heed. So it was arranged that Bayard should take Ned Lytton to his home to nurse and bring him back to bodily health and moral strength, if such accomplishments were possible. The hours passed until night had ceased to age and day was young before the cowman deemed it wise to move the still sleeping Easterner. He chose to make the drive to his ranch in darkness, rather than wait for daylight when his going would attract attention and set minds speculating and tongues wagging.