Suddenly he saw her. She was standing beside her brown saddler, her hand upon the bridle, gazing thoughtfully toward the mountains, now in their morning splendor. He rode Pat to a point perhaps twenty feet behind her, and then quietly let go of the reins and dropped to earth. For a moment he stood, his heart a well of bitterness; then, taking Pat’s rein, he stepped toward her, quietly and slowly, intent upon making her surprise complete, because of her great love for the horse. She continued motionless, her hand upon the bridle, facing the mountains, and he came close before she turned.
He stopped. She stood perfectly still, eyes upon him, upon the horse, a slow pallor creeping into her face. Presently, as one in a spell, she let fall the reins, slowly, mechanically, and stepped toward him, a step ever quickening, her face drawn, in her eyes a strange, unchanging glow, until, when almost upon him, she held out both arms in trembling welcome and uttered a pitiful outcry.
“Stephen! Pat!” she sobbed. “Why–why didn’t you–” She checked herself, came close, reached one arm around Pat, the other around Stephen, and went on. “I am–am glad you–you have come back–back to me.” Her white face quivered. “Both of you. I–I have suffered.”
And Stephen, swept away by the tide of his great love, and forgetting his determination, forgetting everything, bent his head and kissed her. She did not shrink, and he kissed her again. Then he began to talk, to tell her of her wonderful horse. Slowly at first, hesitating, then, as the spirit of the drama gripped him, rapidly, sometimes incoherently, he told of his adventures with the horse, and of Pat’s unwavering loyalty throughout, and of that last dread situation when both their lives depended upon Pat’s winning in a death-grapple with a wild horse. And then, as the gates of speech were opened, he showed her his own part, telling her that as Pat had been true to her trust, so he himself had tried to be true to her faith and trust, and was still trying and hoping, against his convictions, that she understood, that she would consider his love for her and would take him, because he loved her wholly and he needed her love to live. His tense words broke at last, and then he saw her looking up at him through tear-dimmed eyes and smiling, and in the smile he saw the opening of a life new and wonderful.
After a little she turned to Pat. She fell to stroking him in thoughtful silence. Then she turned back.
“I had heard much of what you have been through,” she began, slowly, her voice soft and vibrant with deep sympathy, in her eyes that same steady glow. “The rangers reported to headquarters, and headquarters reported to Daddy. They told of the running fight, Stephen, and how–how you were hurt. And they told of the renegades, and their descent upon your camp, and of Pat’s disappearance. And they told of the way you mounted another horse, hurt and sick though you were, and rode off in pursuit. But from there they knew nothing more. But they had spoken of the cavalry, and I wrote to Fort Wingate, inquiring, and they told me what they knew–that you had joined them and ridden with them through that dreadful fight, though they had tried to keep you out of it on account of your condition, and that afterward you had gone off with some cowboys–they didn’t know to what ranch. So I looked up every brand in that section, Stephen,” she went on, her voice beginning to break. “And I wrote to every place that might by any possible chance know something. But nobody knew. And–and–there I–I was stopped. You had been swallowed up in that desert, and I–I knew you must be ill–and I realized that I–I had sent you into it all.” She sobbed and leaned her head against him. “I couldn’t do anything, Stephen. I was helpless. All I have been able to do at any time, Stephen, was to–to sit at a window and wait–wait to hear from you–wait for your return–and hope, hope day in and day out that–that you were safe. I–I have–have suffered, Stephen,” she concluded, sobbing wretchedly now. “I have suffered–suffered so much!”
He drew her close in his arms, united at last in complete understanding. The brown saddler, left free, wandered away indifferently; but Pat remained beside them, and presently they felt the tender touch of his beautiful head, as if in comprehension and blessing. Their hands went out to him, and Pat nickered softly at the love in their caress. Then Stephen gently raised Helen’s sweet, tear-stained face to his, and in her eyes he read the certainty of the great happiness of years to come, while Pat, raising his head proudly to the desert, stood above them as if in solemn protection.
THE END
ZANE GREY’S NOVELS