It was not until they reached the house and were about to go in that Belding chanced to discover Gale's crippled hand.
"What an awful hand!" he exclaimed. "Where the devil did you get that?"
"I stove in my knuckles on Rojas," replied ****.
"You did that in one punch? Say, I'm glad it wasn't me you hit!
Why didn't you tell me? That's a bad hand. Those cuts are full of dirt and sand. Inflammation's setting in. It's got to be dressed. Nell!" he called.
There was no answer. He called again, louder.
"Mother, where's the girl?"
"She's there in the dining-room," replied Mrs. Belding.
"Did she hear me?" he inquired, impatiently.
"Of course."
"Nell!" roared Belding.
This brought results. **** saw a glimpse of golden hair and a white dress in the door. But they were not visible longer than a second.
"Dad, what's the matter?" asked a voice that was still as sweet as formerly, but now rather small and constrained.
"Bring the antiseptics, cotton, bandages--and things out here.
Hurry now."
Belding fetched a pail of water and a basin from the kitchen. His wife followed him out, and, upon seeing ****'s hand, was all solicitude. Then **** heard light, quick footsteps, but he did not look up.
"Nell, this is Mr. Gall--**** Gale, who came with the boys last last night," said Belding. "He's got an awful hand. Got it punching that greaser Rojas. I want you to dress it....Gale, this is my step-daughter, Nell Burton, of whom I spoke. She's some good when there's somebody sick or hurt. Shove out your fist, my boy, and let her get at it. Supper's nearly ready."
**** felt that same strange, quickening heart throb, yet he had never been cooler in his life. More than anything else in the world he wanted to look at Nell Burton; however, divining that the situation might be embarrassing to her, he refrained from looking up. She began to bathe his injured knuckles. He noted the softness, the deftness of her touch, and then it seemed her fingers were not quite as steady as they might have been. Still, in a moment they appeared to become surer in their work. She had beautiful hands, not too large, though certainly not small, and they were strong, brown, supple. He observed next, with stealthy, upward-stealing glance, that she had rolled up her sleeves, exposing fine, round arms graceful in line. Her skin was brown--no, it was more gold than brown. It had a wonderful clear tint. **** stoically lowered his eyes then, putting off as long as possible the alluring moment when he was to look into her face. That would be a fateful moment. He played with a certain strange joy of anticipation. When, however, she sat down beside him and rested his injured hand in her lap as she cut bandages, she was so thrillingly near that he yielded to an irrepressible desire to look up. She had a sweet, fair face warmly tinted with that same healthy golden-brown sunburn. Her hair was light gold and abundant, a waving mass. Her eyes were shaded by long, downcast lashes, yet through them he caught a gleam of blue.
Despite the stir within him, Gale, seeing she was now absorbed in her task, critically studied her with a second closer gaze.
She was a sweet, wholesome, joyous, pretty girl.
"Shore it musta hurt?" replied Laddy, who sat an interested spectator.
"Yes, I confess it did," replied ****, slowly, with his eyes on Nell's face. "But I didn't mind."
The girl's lashes swept up swiftly in surprise. She had taken his words literally. But the dark-blue eyes met his for only a fleeting second. Then the warm tint in her cheeks turned as red as her lips. Hurriedly she finished tying the bandage and rose to her feet.
"I thank you," said Gale, also rising.
With that Belding appeared in the doorway, and finding the operation concluded, called them in to supper. **** had the use of only one arm, and he certainly was keenly aware of the shy, silent girl across the table; but in spite of these considerable handicaps he eclipsed both hungry cowboys in the assault upon Mrs. Belding's bounteous supper. Belding talked, the cowboys talked more or less. Mrs. Belding put in a word now and then, and **** managed to find brief intervals when it was possible for him to say yes or no. He observed gratefully that no one round the table seemed to be aware of his enormous appetite.
After supper, having a favorable opportunity when for a moment no one was at hand, **** went out through the yard, past the gardens and fields, and climbed the first knoll. From that vantage point he looked out over the little hamlet, somewhat to his right, and was surprised at its extent, its considerable number of adobe houses. The overhanging mountains, ragged and darkening, a great heave of splintered rock, rather chilled and affronted him.
Westward the setting sun gilded a spiked, frost-colored, limitless expanse of desert. It awed Gale. Everywhere rose blunt, broken ranges or isolated groups of mountains. Yet the desert stretched away down between and beyond them. When the sun set and Gale could not see so far, he felt a relief.
That grand and austere attraction of distance gone, he saw the desert nearer at hand--the valley at his feet. What a strange gray, somber place! There was a lighter strip of gray winding down between darker hues. This he realized presently was the river bed, and he saw how the pools of water narrowed and diminished in size till they lost themselves in gray sand. This was the rainy season, near its end, and here a little river struggled hopelessly, forlornly to live in the desert. He received a potent impression of the nature of that blasted age-worn waste which he had divined was to give him strength and work and love.
