"Certainly," said Ajax. He turned to leave the room. We neither of us
asked a question. Upon the threshold he addressed me:
"I'll bring the buggy round while you change."
I reflected that it was considerate of Ajax to allow me to drive Mrs.
Panel the twenty-six miles between our ranch and San Lorenzo. I nodded
and went into my bedroom.
* * * * *
For the first ten miles, Mrs. Panel never opened her lips. I glanced
occasionally at her impassive face, wondering when she would speak.
Somehow I knew that she would speak, and she did. It was like her to
compress all she had left unsaid into the first sentence.
"Jaspar's gone plum crazy with trouble! he took his six-shooter with
him."
After that, details given with a descriptive realism impossible to
reproduce. The poor creature revealed herself to me during the next
few minutes as I feel sure she had never revealed herself to her
husband.
"He's mad, plum crazy," she pleaded. "Nobody knows what he's suffered
but me. I don't say it ain't a jedgment, mebbe it is. We thought we
was jest about right. The pride we took in Sunny Bushes was sinful;
yas, it was.
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