"How 'n hell could she marry a ... thing like that?"
During the day Lytton roused several times and begged for whiskey, incoherently, scarce consciously, but only once again did Bayard respond with stimulants. That was late evening and, after the drink, the man dropped off into profound slumber, not to rouse from it until the sun again rose above the hills and once more flooded the room with its glorious light. Then, he looked up to see Bayard smiling seriously at him, a basin and towel in his hands.
"You're a good sleeper," he said. "I took a look at your pinked arm an' you didn't even move; just cussed me a little."
The other smiled, this time in a more human manner, for the swelling had partly gone from his lips and his eyes were nearer those of his species.
"Now, sit up," the cowman went on, "an' get your face washed, like a good boy."
Gently, swiftly, thoroughly, he washed Lytton's face and neck in water fresh from the well under the ash tree, and, when he had finished, he took the sick man in the crook of his big, steady arm, lifted him without much effort and placed him halfway erect against the re-arranged pillows.
"Would you eat somethin'?" he asked, and for the first time that day his patient spoke.
Bayard brought coffee again and eggs and stood by while Lytton consumed them with a weak show of relish. During this breakfast only a few words were exchanged, but when the dishes were removed and Bayard returned to the bed with a glass of water the other stared into his face for the space of many breaths.
"Old chap, you're mighty white to do all this," he said, and his voice trembled with earnestness. "I ... I don't believe I've ever spoken to you a dozen times when I was sober and yet you.... How long have you been doing all this for me?"
"Only since night before last," Bayard answered, with a depreciating laugh. "It's no more 'n any man would do for another ... if he needed it."
Lytton searched his face seriously again.
"Oh, yes, it is," he muttered, with a painful shake of his head. "No one has ever done for me like this, never since I was a little kid....
"I ... I don't blame 'em; especially the ones out here. I've been a rotter all right; no excuse for it. I ... I've gone the limit and I guess whoever tried to shoot me was justified ... I don't know,"--with a slow sigh--"how much hell I've raised.