III
Mollie Babcock was listlessly going about some imperative domestic task, behind the mean structure which represented home for her, when Steve came upon her.
She was not looking for him. He had been gone so long, out there somewhere, in that abomination of desolation, building a railroad, that the morbid fancy had come to dwell with her that the prairie had swallowed him, and that she would never see him more. So he came upon her unawares.
The buffalo grass rustled with the passage of her skirts. His eyes lighted, the man seemed to grow in stature––six feet of sun-blessed, primitive health. Now was the time–– 261
“Mollie!”
There was a sudden gasp from the woman. With a hand to her throat, she wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.
“I’m back at last. Aren’t you glad to see me?”
She was as pallid as an Easter-lily; pallid, despite the fact that she had decided, and had nerved herself for his coming.
Steve was puzzled. “Mollie, girl”––he did not advance, merely stood as he was––“aren’t you glad to see me? Won’t you––come?”
There was a long space of silence; the woman did not stir. Then a strange, inarticulate cry was smothered in her throat. Swiftly, all but desperately, she stumbled blindly forward, although her eyes were shining with the enchantment of his presence; close to him she came, flung her arms around his broad chest, and strained him to her with the abandon of a wild creature.
“Steve!” tensely, “how could you? Glad? You know I’m glad––oh, so glad! You startled me, that was all.”
“Mollie, girlie”––he lifted her at arms’ 262 length, joying in this testimony of his renewed strength and manhood––“I rode all last night to get here––to see you. Are you happy, girlie, happy?”
“Yes, Steve”––her voice was chastened to a murmur––“I––I’m very happy.”
“That completes my happiness.” Drawing her tenderly to him, he kissed her again and again––hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly, he fell to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that she was quick to interpret.
“Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten, Mollie?”
“No, I’ve not forgotten, Steve.” She drew the bearded face down to her own. Had Steve been observant he would have noticed that the lips so near his own were trembling; but he was not observant, this Steve Babcock. Once, twice and again she kissed him.
“I think I’ll never forget, Steve, man––never!” With one hand she indicated the prairie that billowed away to the skyline. “This is our home, and I love it because it is ours. I shall always have you––I know now, Steve. 263 And I’m the happiest, most contented woman in all the wide world.”
She drew away with a sudden movement, her face aglow with love and happiness. She was pulling at his arm with all her might.
“Where are you going?” he asked, surprised.
“Over to the camp––to Journey’s End. I must tell Annie Warren just as soon as ever I can find her.”