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"I reckon you've never been, though," Graham went on, "else you'd never ask that question." During the remainder of the evening, Grannis sought no further information; and to Ma Graham's narrow life a new interest was added. Ordinarily the cowboys went to their bunks in an adjoining shed almost directly after supper, but this evening, without giving a reason, they lingered.
With a sudden movement Grannis slipped up the sleeve of his left arm, showing a bandage through which the blood had soaked and dried. "All of us got scratched some. One fellow of the opposition Mick Kennedy met with an accident." "Serious?" "Rather. We planted him after things had quieted down." For a moment the two men looked at each other steadily, and the subject was dropped.
The lids met over Rankin's eyes, then the narrow slit opened. "It was in the no'thwest you say, and seemed to be quite a way off?" Grannis nodded. "Yes; I couldn't make out any fire, only the smoke, and that didn't last long.
He had suddenly grown weak and drowsy, and almost before Grannis was through speaking he was again asleep. The doctor was right about the time of healing. During the remainder of that month and well into the next, despite his restless protests, Ben Blair was a prisoner in that dull little room; and through it all Grannis remained with him.
Maria grinned, and swung the door wide. Old Grannis was horribly embarrassed; positively, Maria was becoming unbearable. "Got any junk?" cried Maria at Miss Baker's door. The little old lady was sitting close to the wall in her rocking-chair; her hands resting idly in her lap. "Now, Maria," she said plaintively, "you are always after junk; you know I never have anything laying 'round like that."
In the kitchen, Ma Graham still presided, her accumulated avoirdupois seeming to have been gathered at the expense of her lord, who in equal ratio thinner and more weazened, danced attendance as of old. Only one of the former cowboys now remained. That one, strange to say, was Grannis, the "man from nowhere," who had apparently taken root at last.
"In other words, is a tragedy any less a tragedy, any more public property, because the actors are dead? Answer me honest, Grannis." Impassively as before the overseer shook his head. "No, I think not," he said. "Let the dead past bury its dead."
"Well, well," answered Old Grannis, timidly, rubbing his chin, "I I'm sure I can't quite say; a little habit, you know; a diversion, a a it occupies one, you know. I don't smoke; it takes the place of a pipe, perhaps." "Here's this old yellow pitcher," said Maria, coming out of the closet with it in her hand. "The handle's cracked; you don't want it; better give me it."
The fire was crackling in the new stove, that smoked badly; a smell of cooking was in the air. She drove McTeague and Old Grannis from the room with great gestures of her bare arms. This kitchen was the only one of the three rooms they had been obliged to furnish throughout.
Old Miss Baker had seen him thus several times through her half-open door, as she sat in her room listening and waiting. The old dressmaker was shocked out of all expression. She was outraged, offended, pursing her lips, putting up her head. She talked of complaining to the landlady. "And Mr. Grannis right next door, too. You can understand how trying it is for both of us."
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