“Mollie, girlie”––he lifted her at arms’ 262 length, joying in this testimony of his renewed strength and manhood––“I rode all last night to get here––to see you. Are you happy, girlie, happy?”
“Yes, Steve”––her voice was chastened to a murmur––“I––I’m very happy.”
“That completes my happiness.” Drawing her tenderly to him, he kissed her again and again––hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly, he fell to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that she was quick to interpret.
“Isn’t there something you’ve forgotten, Mollie?”
“No, I’ve not forgotten, Steve.” She drew the bearded face down to her own. Had Steve been observant he would have noticed that the lips so near his own were trembling; but he was not observant, this Steve Babcock. Once, twice and again she kissed him.
“I think I’ll never forget, Steve, man––never!” With one hand she indicated the prairie that billowed away to the skyline. “This is our home, and I love it because it is ours. I shall always have you––I know now, Steve. 263 And I’m the happiest, most contented woman in all the wide world.”
She drew away with a sudden movement, her face aglow with love and happiness. She was pulling at his arm with all her might.
“Where are you going?” he asked, surprised.
“Over to the camp––to Journey’s End. I must tell Annie Warren just as soon as ever I can find her.”