Bred of the Desert Part 20

THE REUNION

Stephen awoke quite late in the morning after his arrival in Pat's home town. Standing before a window in his room at the hotel, he saw a young woman cantering across the railroad tracks in the direction of the mesa.

It was Helen, and, at sight of her, for a brief and awful moment he wavered in his decision. Then he remembered his suffering, and the determination made while convalescing, and, hastening his toilet, he hurried through breakfast and made his way to the livery-stable where Pat had spent the night. Pat nickered joyful greeting, as if understanding what was to come. Bridling and saddling him, Stephen mounted and rode into the street at a canter. He turned into the avenue, crossed the railroad tracks, and mounted the long, slow rise to the mesa at a walk. He moved slowly because he wanted time to think, to pull himself together, to the end that he might hold himself firmly to his decision in this last talk. And yet--and this was the conflict he suffered--he could hardly restrain himself, hold himself back, from urging Pat to his utmost.

He reached the first flat in the long rise. Absorbed in troubled reflections, he was barely conscious of the nods from two men he pa.s.sed whom he knew--Hodgins, kindly old soul, book in hand; Maguire, truest of Celts, a twenty-inch slide-rule under his arm. Nodding in friendly recognition, both men gazed at the horse, seeming to understand, and glad to know that he was back. Mounting the second rise, he saw another whom he knew. A quarter of a mile to his left, on the tiny porch of a lone adobe, sat Skeet under a hat, feet elevated to the porch railing, head turned in a listening att.i.tude, as though heeding a call, or many calls, from the direction of a brick-and-stone structure to the southwest. Everywhere familiar objects, scenes, stray people, caught his eye as he rode slowly out upon the mesa, trying to get his thoughts away from the immediate future, from Helen, his successful return of the horse, and that other thing, his determination to leave this s.p.a.cious land for ever.

Suddenly he saw her. She was standing beside her brown saddler, her hand upon the bridle, gazing thoughtfully toward the mountains, now in their morning splendor. He rode Pat to a point perhaps twenty feet behind her, and then quietly let go of the reins and dropped to earth. For a moment he stood, his heart a well of bitterness; then, taking Pat's rein, he stepped toward her, quietly and slowly, intent upon making her surprise complete, because of her great love for the horse. She continued motionless, her hand upon the bridle, facing the mountains, and he came close before she turned.

He stopped. She stood perfectly still, eyes upon him, upon the horse, a slow pallor creeping into her face. Presently, as one in a spell, she let fall the reins, slowly, mechanically, and stepped toward him, a step ever quickening, her face drawn, in her eyes a strange, unchanging glow, until, when almost upon him, she held out both arms in trembling welcome and uttered a pitiful outcry.

"Stephen! Pat!" she sobbed. "Why--why didn't you--" She checked herself, came close, reached one arm around Pat, the other around Stephen, and went on. "I am--am glad you--you have come back--back to me." Her white face quivered. "Both of you. I--I have suffered."

And Stephen, swept away by the tide of his great love, and forgetting his determination, forgetting everything, bent his head and kissed her.

She did not shrink, and he kissed her again. Then he began to talk, to tell her of her wonderful horse. Slowly at first, hesitating, then, as the spirit of the drama gripped him, rapidly, sometimes incoherently, he told of his adventures with the horse, and of Pat's unwavering loyalty throughout, and of that last dread situation when both their lives depended upon Pat's winning in a death-grapple with a wild horse. And then, as the gates of speech were opened, he showed her his own part, telling her that as Pat had been true to her trust, so he himself had tried to be true to her faith and trust, and was still trying and hoping, against his convictions, that she understood, that she would consider his love for her and would take him, because he loved her wholly and he needed her love to live. His tense words broke at last, and then he saw her looking up at him through tear-dimmed eyes and smiling, and in the smile he saw the opening of a life new and wonderful.

After a little she turned to Pat. She fell to stroking him in thoughtful silence. Then she turned back.

"I had heard much of what you have been through," she began, slowly, her voice soft and vibrant with deep sympathy, in her eyes that same steady glow. "The rangers reported to headquarters, and headquarters reported to Daddy. They told of the running fight, Stephen, and how--how you were hurt. And they told of the renegades, and their descent upon your camp, and of Pat's disappearance. And they told of the way you mounted another horse, hurt and sick though you were, and rode off in pursuit. But from there they knew nothing more. But they had spoken of the cavalry, and I wrote to Fort Wingate, inquiring, and they told me what they knew--that you had joined them and ridden with them through that dreadful fight, though they had tried to keep you out of it on account of your condition, and that afterward you had gone off with some cowboys--they didn't know to what ranch. So I looked up every brand in that section, Stephen," she went on, her voice beginning to break. "And I wrote to every place that might by any possible chance know something. But n.o.body knew. And--and--there I--I was stopped. You had been swallowed up in that desert, and I--I knew you must be ill--and I realized that I--I had sent you into it all." She sobbed and leaned her head against him. "I couldn't do anything, Stephen. I was helpless. All I have been able to do at any time, Stephen, was to--to sit at a window and wait--wait to hear from you--wait for your return--and hope, hope day in and day out that--that you were safe. I--I have--have suffered, Stephen," she concluded, sobbing wretchedly now. "I have suffered--suffered so much!"

He drew her close in his arms, united at last in complete understanding.

The brown saddler, left free, wandered away indifferently; but Pat remained beside them, and presently they felt the tender touch of his beautiful head, as if in comprehension and blessing. Their hands went out to him, and Pat nickered softly at the love in their caress. Then Stephen gently raised Helen's sweet, tear-stained face to his, and in her eyes he read the certainty of the great happiness of years to come, while Pat, raising his head proudly to the desert, stood above them as if in solemn protection.

THE END

ZANE GREY'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS

Colored frontispiece by W. Herbert Dunton.

Most of the action of this story takes place near the turbulent Mexican border of the present day. A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal cowboys defend her property from bandits, and her superintendent rescues her when she is captured by them. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.

DESERT GOLD

Ill.u.s.trated by Douglas Duer.

Another fascinating story of the Mexican border. Two men, lost in the desert, discover gold when, overcome by weakness, they can go no farther. The rest of the story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding of the gold which the two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine.

RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE

Ill.u.s.trated by Douglas Duer.

A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authority ruled. In the persecution of Jane Withersteen, a rich ranch owner, we are permitted to see the methods employed by the invisible hand of the Mormon Church to break her will.

THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN

Ill.u.s.trated with photograph reproductions.

This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canons and giant pines." It is a fascinating story.

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT

Jacket in color. Frontispiece.

This big human drama is played in the Painted Desert. A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons--

Well, that's the problem of this sensational, big selling story.

BETTY ZANE

Ill.u.s.trated by Louis F. Grant.

This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. Life along the frontier, attacks by Indians, Betty's heroic defense of the beleaguered garrison at Wheeling, the burning of the Fort, and Betty's final race for life make up this never-to-be-forgotten story.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE

HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILl.u.s.tRATED.

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list

MAVERICKS.

A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler," whose depredations are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told.

A TEXAS RANGER.

How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law into the mesquite, saved the life of an innocent man after a series of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then pa.s.sed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness.

WYOMING.

In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured the breezy charm of "cattleland," and brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor.

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA.

The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and mining industries are the religion of the country. The political contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this story great strength and charm.

BUCKY O'CONNOR,