“No, no!” The storm was clearing. “It was all my fault. I know you’d rather not.” She had grasped Mollie’s arms, and was forcing her backward, toward the bunk, gently, smilingly. “Be still. I’ve something to tell you. Are you quite ready to listen?”
“Yes, I’m quite ready.”
“You haven’t the slightest idea what it is? You couldn’t even guess?”
“No, I couldn’t even guess.”
“I’ll tell you, then.” The plump Annie was bubbling like a child before a well-filled Christmas stocking. “It’s Jack: he’s coming this very day. A big, fierce Indian brought the letter this morning.” She sat down tailor fashion on the end of the bunk. “He nearly ate up Susie––Jack christened her Susie because she’s a Sioux––because she wouldn’t let him put the 253 letter right into my own hand. That’s why I’m up so early.”
She looked slyly at the woman on the bed.
“Who do you suppose is coming with him?” she asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” in a tone of not caring, either.
“Guess, Mollie!”
“Steve?”