Part 39 (2/2)

”I was,” laughed the other. ”I mean--only a scalp wound.” And he pointed to the mark on his forehead.

The figure at the door, piteous in its helplessness, never moved, never turned.

”Give me that water,” Bradley continued. ”I want to get him in alive if I can. All the more credit to me and my men, you see.”

Morgan Pell had taken the canteen down from the wall and poured some water in it. Now he handed it to Bradley. ”There you are,” he said.

”Thanks,” the ranger said. He went back to the door, and pushed the jug to the lips of his prisoner. ”Take a swig o' that.” Lopez did so. His humiliation was evident even in his back. And only a little while ago he had been the monarch of all he surveyed! Now he was the slave of Bradley, and must ride, hand-cuffed, to the jail a few miles away.

”He's wounded,” said Lucia, going to the door. ”You can't take him--like that!” she exclaimed. She longed for Lopez to turn and look at her; yet she longed, oddly enough, that he would not do so in the next second. It would be as difficult for her, as for him, if they saw each other. Her heart went out to him--this friend of Gilbert's--and hers.

Bradley hated this show of feminine weakness. ”Why can't I take him like that? Do you think I'm going to nurse an invalid like him around these parts?” He took the canteen from one of his men. ”Here,” he said, handing it back to Pell.

”That's all right. Keep it; you may need it later on,” said Pell, as though the jug were his to give away.

”Much obliged,” the ranger thanked him, nothing loath. ”Come on, Bloke.

Good-night. We got him!”

He gave the bandit a shove, and two other rangers grasped him by either arm. In a twinkling they were gone, had mounted their horses and were galloping away in the starlight.

So everything was over and done with! Lucia was heart-broken for Lopez. She came back into the room, murmuring:

”Lopez! Lopez captured!” There were tears in her eyes.

Pell paced the room with new strength. His eyes were now sinister.

”Fortunately for us, my dear,” he said. ”For now we are certain not to be disturbed while working out a sensible solution of our little problem.” He had forgotten the pain in his head. He lighted a cigarette, casually, slowly. ”You will of course sue for divorce,” he went on, blowing a ring to the ceiling and watching it ascend. ”But there'll be no difficulty about that. I shall not contest,” he added magnanimously.

She grasped at the straw. ”You won't?” She almost believed him now.

”You'd win, anyway,” her husband said. ”But there _is_ the question of alimony.”

Gilbert swerved about. He detested the word. ”Alimony!” he cried.

”An attractive woman never gets the worst of it in court,” Pell coldly stated. ”Suppose we settle that--right here and now. It will give you ready money. And it will save me from having to pay perhaps a greater sum--later.

That is....”

Gilbert was incensed. ”We don't want your money!” he cried. And Lucia treated the suggestion with the scorn it deserved.

Pell looked at them both. ”No? Well, in that case, I suppose there's nothing more to be said.”

”And we are free to go?” Lucia cried, unbelieving.

Her husband puffed again. ”Why not? I know I shan't stop you.” Suddenly he dropped his cigarette, leaned heavily against the table, swayed a bit, and put his hand to his head. The old pain was returning.

”You're suffering?” Lucia asked, alarmed. A strange pallor had come over him.

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