"Fire away! The devil alone knows what I could do for anybody." "Just this. Be careful of me, please. I might, sometime, sort of choke you or something!" He turned back to the wash basin at that and soused his face and head in the cold water. A moment before he had looked through that red film which makes killers of gentle men. He had mastered himself at the cost of a mighty effort, but in the wake of his rage came a fresh loathing for that other man ... the man he was grooming, rehabilitating, only to blot out the possibility of having a bit of Ann's life for himself. He was putting his best heart, his best mind, his best strength into that discouraging task, hoping against hope that he might lift Lytton to a level where Ann would find something to attract and hold her, something to safeguard her against the true lover who might ride past on his fire-shod stallion. And it was bitter work. CHAPTER XII THE RUNAWAY During these days Bayard saw Ann regularly. He would be up before dawn that he might do the necessary riding after his cattle and reach Yavapai before sunset, because, somehow, he felt that to see another man's wife by daylight was less of a transgression than though he went under cover of darkness. Perhaps it was also because he feared that in spite of his caution to keep Ann's identity secret, in spite of the community's accepted first conclusion, Yavapai might learn that she was wife and not sister, and wished to fortify her against the sting of comment that might be passed should the revelation occur and his affection for her be guessed. He was punctilious about his appearance. Invariably he changed shirts and overalls before riding to the town, and he had reserved one gorgeous green silk scarf for those occasions. He never appeared before the woman unshaven and, since his one confessional outburst, he was as careful of his speech, his manner, as he was of his person. Ann had taken to Arizona whole heartedly and dressed suitably for the new life she was leading--divided skirts, simple blouses, a brimmed hat that would shade her eyes. Her cheeks bronzed from sun and wind, the blood pumped closer to her skin from the outdoor life and her eyes, above the latent pain in their depths, took on the brilliance of health. Her new manner of dress, the better color that came to her face and accentuated her beauty, the growing indications of vitality about her, served only to fan the flame in Bayard's heart, for as it made her more attractive to him, it also made her more understandable, brought her nearer to his virile kind. [Illustration: Ann had taken to Arizona whole-heartedly and dressed suitably for the new life she was leading.] "I've come to tell you about him, ma'am," he always said, by way of opening their conversations.