Molly went on steadily with the work of her home while Lightning ate his food. And when he had finished she speeded him on his journey.
“I’ll make a big seeding while you’re gone,” she said, from the doorway. “Maybe you’ll be quite awhile. You can’t ever guess where those crazy creatures will make. I’d try the sweet-grass flats.”
Lightning shook his head.
“Maybe I will. You just can’t tell,” he added, with a tightening of his thin lips.
Molly watched him go, his tall figure lurching with that peculiar gait which, with advancing years, seems to become ever more marked in men of great height. She knew the man for what he was—a hard ruffian utterly devoid of any graces or refinements, but a creature with a heart of unalloyed gold. She knew how great was the debt she owed him. She knew how much his goodwill meant to her. But beyond all question of self-interest there was real affection in her heart for him. She loved the simple, foolish, headlong nature that seemed beyond his power to control. She laughed at his vanities, his inadequate reasoning. Sometimes, even, she found pity for him. But this was only rarely. No one knew better than she how little pity was needed. He lived his life full to the brim of supreme contentment.
She went back to her kitchen and her own breakfast.
CHAPTER IX
Suspicion
LIGHTNING did not return until sundown, and when he reappeared the hard light of his eyes had deepened, and the thrust of his chin had become more aggressive. Molly realised these ominous signs when she encountered him at the barn, where she had just stabled her team after a long day’s seeding.
“Well?” she inquired.
The old man shook his head, and the storm leaped into his eyes.