She swayed toward him.
"I sent for you," she began, brushing the hair out of her eyes with the back of one hand.
"An' I came, Ann."
"I ... It was only chance ... that I saw him and ... screamed...."
"But you did; an' it saved me."
"I sent for you, Bruce.... To take me away ... from Ned.... To take me away from him ... with you...."
She stepped closer and with a quivering sigh lifted her arms wearily and clasped them about his neck, while Bayard, heart pounding, gathered her body close against his as the tears came and great convulsions of grief shook her.
He leaned back against the rock, holding her entire weight in his arms, and they were there for minutes, his lips caressing her hair, her temples, her cheeks. Her crying quieted, and, when she no longer sobbed aloud, he turned his head to look downward.
Benny Lynch was just then straightening from a stooping posture beside Lytton. He turned away, took a cartridge from his belt, slipped it into the chamber from which the empty piece of smoky brass had been removed and shoved the gun back into his holster. As it went home, he looked down at it curiously, stared a moment, drew it out again and examined it slowly, first one side, then the other. He shook his head and threw the weapon down the gulch, where it clattered on the rocks. After that, he walked toward the house, and about his movements was an indication of the sense of finality, of accomplishment, that filled him.
"I'll take you away, Sweetheart," Bayard whispered, gently. "But it won't be necessary to take you ... away from Ned...."