But Richard was gone, striding over the fallen leaves toward the spot of green which was Betty’s gingham dress. And Betty, spying him, forgot she was grown up. She ran 123 toward him with outstretched arms, as of old––only––just as he reached her, she drew back and a wave of red suffused her face. She gave him one hand instead of both, and called to Peter Junior to hurry.
“Well, Betty Ballard! I can’t jump you along now over stocks and stones as I used to. And here’s everybody! Why, Jamie, what a great man you are! I’ll have to take you back with me to help build the new road. And here’s Bobby; and this little girl––I wonder if she remembers me well enough to give me a kiss? I have nobody to kiss me now, when I come back. That’s right. That’s what Betty used to do. Why, hello! here’s Clara Dean, and who’s this? John Walters? So you’re a man, too! Mr. Dean, how are you? And Mrs. Dean! You don’t grow any older anyway, so I’ll walk with you. Wait until I’ve pounded this old chap a minute. Why didn’t I write I was coming? Man, I didn’t know it myself. I’m under orders nowadays. To get here at all I had to steal time. So you’re graduated from a crutch to a cane? Good!”
Every one exclaimed at once, while Richard talked right on, until they reached the riverside where the lunch was spread; and then the babble was complete.
That night, as they all drove home in the moonlight, Richard tied his horse to the rear of the Ballards’ wagon and rode home seated on the hay with the rest. He placed himself where Betty sat on his right, and the two boys crowded as close to him as possible on his left. Little Janey, cuddled at Betty’s side, was soon fast asleep with her head in her sister’s lap, while Lucien Thurbyfil was well pleased to have Martha in the corner to himself. Peter Junior sat near Betty and listened with interest to his 124 cousin, who entertained them all with tales of the plains and the Indians, and the game that supplied them with many a fine meal in camp.
“Say, did you ever see a real herd of wild buffalo just tearing over the ground and kicking up a great dust and stampeding and everything?” said Jamie.
“Oh, yes. And if you are out there all alone on your pony, you’d better keep away from in front of them, too, or you’d be trampled to death in a jiffy.”
“What’s stampeding?” said Bobby.
So Richard explained it, and much more that elicited long breaths of interest. He told them of the miles and miles of land without a single tree or hill, and only a sea of grass as far as the eye could reach, as level as Lake Michigan, and far vaster. And how the great railway was now approaching the desert, and how he had seen the bones of men and cattle and horses bleaching white, lying beside their broken-down wagons half buried in the drifting sand. He told them how the trail that such people had made with so much difficulty stretched far, far away into the desert along the very route, for the most part, that the railroad was taking, and answered their questions so interestingly that the boys were sorry when they reached home at last and they had to bid good-night to Peter Junior’s fascinating cousin, Richard.