With a cry she ran to him, her arms outstretched, her hair flying in the wind, her dark eyes wild with joy.
XVI. THUNDER RIVER
FOR an instant Hare's brain reeled, and Mescal's broken murmurings were meaningless. Then his faculties grew steady and acute; he held the girl as if he intended never to let her go. Mescal clung to him with a wildness that gave him anxiety for her reason; there was something almost fierce in the tension of her arms, in the blind groping for his face.
“Mescal! It's Jack, safe and well,” he said. “Let me look at you.”
At the sound of his voice all her rigid strength changed to a yielding weakness; she leaned back supported by his arms and looked at him. Hare trembled before the dusky level glance he remembered so well, and as tears began to flow he drew her head to his shoulder. He had forgotten to prepare himself for a different Mescal. Despite the quivering smile of happiness, her eyes were strained with pain. The oval contour, the rich bloom of her face had gone; beauty was there still, but it was the ghost of the old beauty.
“Jack—is it—really you?” she asked.
He answered with a kiss.
She slipped out of his arms breathless and scarlet. “Tell me all—”
“There's much to tell, but not before you kiss me. It has been more than a year.”