The Plow-Woman Part 62

Then--interrupting--a knock, loud, peremptory.

The company stilled. Jamieson opened.

There stood a jolly figure--the sutler's--apple-round head and all.

"Well, Blakely?" asked the captain.

Blakely hung his weight on a foot and, coughing behind his plump hand, bobbed his answer: "Steam's up, sir."

Lounsbury had the centre of the floor. He kept it, reaching out to bring Dallas beside him. They stood while the others crowded up to give them well wishes and to tell them good-night.

Last of all came David Bond. "My daughter, my son," he said, "G.o.d bless you!"

Lounsbury slipped Dallas' hand into his arm. Then the door opened for them, and they went out--together.

"John is a good man," said the evangelist, "and will make a good husband," He was seated with Fraser on the gallery, watching a light in midstream dance its way through the dark.

Fraser sighed happily. "She's a dear girl," he murmured, looking back to where the lamp was moving about in Oliver's spare room. "She'd make a wife for a prince."

Presently he roused himself with another sigh. "You ought to see the way we fixed up the shack," he said. "White kick-up curtains on the windows--that was Mrs. Oliver's idea; rose-berries all over the mantel--Marylyn did that; I stuffed the fireplace full of sumach; then, Michael sprinkled and swept out, and we covered the floor with Navajo blankets."

"Little place looked cosey."

"Cosey as could be."

A little while, and Fraser sprang up. "They're there!" he cried. "See?

see? They're home!"

Far away on the bend, the eyes of the shack were bright.

"And you, Mr. Fraser?" asked the evangelist.

"Marylyn and I will wait for the Colonel. Won't be long, now. Shall you be here?"

"I think not. The Indians go to Standing Rock next week. I go with them."

"Poor Charley!" said Fraser, huskily. "He won't go, poor old chap!"

"Hardly poor, Mr. Fraser." There was a triumphant ring in David Bond's voice. "Few men gain as much as he by death."

"I know. Even the Captain's proud of him now."

They fell silent.

Now from the tent rows that replaced the barracks, rang out the trumpet, sounding the day's last call. The two turned their heads to listen.

The call ended. The faint, wavering notes of the echo died away upon river and bluff.

They turned back to the shack again--and saw its light go flickering out.

THE END