CHAPTER XXIII

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 passed

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 attitude, 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 spacious

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 nobody

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

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"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional

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