The Bad Man | Page 8

and tired, he said, and he desired to freshen up.
She got out of the car, and "Red" rattled down to the home-made
garage a few rods away.
They were alone; and they stood there in the path for a moment,
looking into each other's eyes.
"He is my husband," Lucia then found herself saying. "I am now Mrs.
Pell."
"What are we going to do?" Gilbert asked. He had the face of a dreamer,
she thought. The steel-gray eyes were full of fire and longing. What
had these few years done to him?
"We are going to do nothing at all. What is there to do? We shall not be
here many days. If you'd rather we went back to Bisbee...."
"Oh, no! That would only make an issue of nothing. He doesn't know
anything? You're sure? Oh, Lucia!" He seemed suddenly overcome at
their amazing meeting.
She saw that she would have to be the mistress of the situation.
"Don't--don't, Gilbert," she begged. "I am just a guest of yours."
"I know--I know," he said, and there was a shade of anguish in his
voice. "Forgive me. There shall be absolutely nothing said. Not even a
gesture. I promise you that. It is as though we had never known each
other."

"Surely we can play a part. It isn't as if we were children," she said, and
smiled.
He looked at her--indeed, his eyes had never left her face. Never had
she seemed so wonderful to him.
"I'm in bad," he told her. "Got to give the old place up. But what's that
to you?" There was a sound behind them. "Here comes Uncle Henry!"
A wheel chair came out of the doorway. In it sat an old man of about
sixty. But he did not look much like an invalid. His cheeks were rosy,
and his abundant white hair was brushed back from a forehead of fine
moulding. His eyes were penetrating--as young as Gilbert's, almost.
Ten years before he had become paralyzed in his legs, and now he
wheeled himself about, not at all uncomfortable.
"Uncle Henry, this is Mrs. Pell. Come out and meet her," his nephew
said.
Lucia felt that she should go to the invalid; but he beat her to it. Quick
as a billiard-ball he had reached her side, turning the wheels of his chair
with great rapidity.
"Pleased to meet you," he said, and put out a white hand. "How long
you goin' to stay?"
"What a question," Gilbert laughed. "As long as she and her husband
wish, of course."
"Well, by cricketty ginger!" Henry Smith exclaimed. "Hope you'll give
'em enough to eat!" And before anyone could say another word, he had
turned and scooted back into the house.
"Don't mind Uncle Henry," Gilbert said to Lucia. "He's got a heart of
gold, but he can be cranky and eccentric sometimes. Maybe he's got
one of his moods to-day. I never know. Tomorrow he'll be all
right--perhaps. I hope so, anyhow.... But come inside. You must be
tired after your trip. Your rooms are upstairs."

He led her into the prettiest low-beamed room she thought she had ever
seen. Indian pottery was all about, low settles, a fireplace that conjured
up a cozy picture of lonely winter evenings, and an entrancing staircase
without a balustrade that led to a dark blue door. On the walls were
some beautiful Navajo blankets, and a tiny alcove off to the right
seemed to lead to another part of the long low house. The windows
were brightly curtained, and all the furniture had a look of endurance
and permanence--a manly room, she thought. Yet how ironical this
appearance of firmness and stability was, in view of the reason of their
visit! He had said he must give the place up. What a wrench it would be
for him!
Women seldom like to see a bachelor--particularly a young
bachelor--living in such solid comfort. As Lucia went up the stairs, she
saw little touches she could give to the place. But she had to confess
that the improvements she could suggest were not at all important. If
two men could get along so well without feminine society, perhaps one
of them didn't miss her much, after all!
CHAPTER III
WHEREIN UNCLE HENRY SPEAKS HIS MIND--AS USUAL
It was high noon, two days later. Gilbert again had been about the ranch
looking things over. He had his dreamy moments, but he was far too
practical to let the poet in him rule his life. One sensed, by the most
cursory glance, that here was a type of virile young American who
could not only dream, but make his dreams come true. No idler he!
And he had no use for idlers. He had dared to come to this far