Finally she came. Annette came alone. She came padding, a bundling, fur-clad figure over the snow, from one of the long, low huts of the barrack married quarters, where she had been housed since her coming to Calford. She came slowly, almost reluctantly. And she was carrying a bundle of clothing tied up hastily, without care for appearance.
At sight of her the Wolf bestirred out of his preoccupation.
The change in Annette was even more pronounced than was the change in the Wolf. All the old wilful spirit and impishness had gone out of her. And as she came to the horses and to the waiting man, her peering eyes were apprehensive within the depths of her storm collar. She came with that uncertainty, that dreadful diffidence that suggested imminent, precipitate flight were her inclination given free play. She looked pathetically lonely and helpless.
There was no verbal greeting. For an instant the Wolf’s expression softened. That was all. He took the girl’s bundle from her and tied it on his saddle. Then he flung the reins over the horses’ heads, and the girl leaped astride of her saddle and moved off.
Their way lay through the heart of the city with its morning traffic in full tide. It was down one of the broad avenues, dotted with automobiles and horse sleighs, and heavy double-bob commercial vehicles. The way was lined with houses and stores heavily burdened with slowly melting snow. Then there were the besmirched drifts rotting against the sidewalks.
The horses ambled their way through the traffic. The Wolf had no desire to draw attention to their going. And it was not till the river bridge was crossed, and they breasted their way out of the valley to the plains above, that the eager horses stretched out into the devouring gait that was to bear them to their destination.
As the last habitation fell away behind them the Wolf breathed his relief.
There in the city he felt he had no place. It was the world of civilization to which his claim had always been small enough, and now less than ever. Down there the snow had been soft and rotten, and it appealed to him as though it were symbolical of the life that was lived there. Up on the plains, with the keen breath blowing down from the far hills, the trail was iron hard, and he was glad.
He rode on beside the girl with the silence unbroken between them. Pace was increased to something commensurate with Fyles’ anticipation. And the Wolf’s mood eased under the influence of activity and the friendliness of his surroundings.
This was the world to which he belonged. The wintry sky, the keen wind that could leap to storm in minutes, the depths of snow, and then—the hills.