Hetty said nothing, but she pressed his arm, and her eyes shone mistily when they went out together. Half an hour later they rode out of the town, and Grant turned to her when the clustering houses dipped behind a billowy rise, and they were once more alone in the empty prairie, with their faces towards Canada.
“I am ’most ashamed to look at you, but you will forgive me, little girl,” he said. “There are brighter days before us than your wedding one, and by and by I hope you will not be sorry you have borne so much for me.”
Hetty’s lips quivered a little, but the pride of the cattle-barons shone in her eyes. “I have nothing to forgive and am only very tired,” she said. “I shall never be sorry while you are kind to me, and I would have ridden to Canada if I had known that it would have killed me. The one thing I am afraid of is that you and he should meet.”
They rode on, speaking but seldom as the leagues went by, for Grant had much to think of and Hetty was very weary. Indeed, she swayed unevenly in her saddle, while the long, billowy levels shining in the sunlight rolled back, as it were, interminably to them, and now and then only saved herself from a fall by a clutch at the bridle. There were times when a drowsiness that would scarcely be shaken off crept upon her, and she roused herself with a strenuous effort and a horrible fear at her heart, knowing that if her strength failed her the blood of husband or father might be upon her head.
The sky was blue above them, the white sod warm below, and already chequered here and there with green; and, advancing in long battalion, crane and goose and mallard came up from the south to follow the sun towards the Pole. The iron winter had fled before it, and all nature smiled; but Hetty, who had often swept the prairie at a wild gallop, with her blood responding to the thrill of reawakening life that was in everything, rode with a set white face and drooping head, and Larry groaned as he glanced at her.
Late in the afternoon they dismounted, and Hetty lay with her head upon his shoulder while they rested amidst the grass. The provisions the storekeeper had given them were scattered about, but Hetty had tasted nothing, and Grant had only forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls with difficulty. He had thrown an arm about her, and she lay with eyes closed, motionless.
Suddenly he raised his head and looked about him. Save for the sighing of the warm wind, the prairie was very still, and a low, white rise cut off from sight the leagues they had left behind, but, though a man from the cities would have heard nothing at all, Larry, straining his ears to listen, heard a sound just audible creep out of the silence. For a moment he sat rigid and intent, wondering if it was made by a flight of cranes; but he could see no dusky stain on the blue beyond the rise, and his fingers closed upon the rifle as the sound grew plainer. It rose and fell with a staccato rhythm in it, and he recognized the beat of hoofs. Turning, he gently touched the girl.
“Hetty, you must rouse yourself,” he said, with a pitiful quiver in his voice.
The girl slowly lifted her head, and glanced about her in a half-dazed fashion. Then, with an effort, she drew one foot under her, and again the fear shadowed her face.
“Oh,” she said, “they’re coming! Lift me, dear.”