The afterglow of the sunset, welling up from behind the ridge of
mountains along the western horizon, bathed the girl’s face in its soft,
warm light. She was seated, cross-legged, on the outermost point of a
narrow, jutting crest, and her gaze roamed out across the town of
Ramapo, far below her, and the rolling, green velvet of Red Valley
beyond. A little way behind her, her big roan, Ted, was peacefully
nibbling at the scattered tufts of coarse mountain grass.
She heard a step in back of her and turned quickly.
A tall, curly-headed man was smiling down at her. His dusty clothes
showed abundant evidences of long, hard riding, and he appeared to be
exceedingly weary. But there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes that
seemed to overshadow everything else about him.
“Rand!” She sprang to her feet, and her voice was glad. “Where have you
been all this last week?”
“I’ve been about twenty-five miles from here, Jeanne,” he replied,
coming forward and taking her hand. “In fact, I was that far away until
this very afternoon. Then I decided that there was nothing to keep me
away from you any longer; and Baldy and I came back in a hurry.” His
gray eyes looked into his blue ones; and, under the influence of that
steady gaze, the blue ones dropped. Her cheeks became the color of the
red rose. “Let’s sit down for a while, Jeanne,” he said, after a bit.
“This is a pretty spot you’ve selected.”
“Now,” she said severely, when they were seated, “perhaps you’ll let me
know why you were so unkind as to rush off without telling me a word
about it. I could not find out what had become of you.” Her smile of
welcome, however, robbed the words of their pretended rebuke.
“I went away for two reasons,” he answered slowly. “One was that I
wanted to verify some information that I had received; the other was
that I had something to say to you, Jeanne, and I felt that I couldn’t
say it while you were under the—er—influence of certain—certain events
that happened recently.” He was beginning to have a hard time of it.
After one startled look the girl turned away her face, and her eyes
stared vacantly across the valley. He waited for her to speak; but when
she remained silent he resumed.
“Jeanne, do you remember when we were out riding some time ago, and
Smiley joined us just as we were starting down toward the town? Do you
remember he asked to talk to me alone?”
She nodded without looking around.
“Well, he gave me a letter then and asked me to keep it,
unless—er—something happened to him. Perhaps you remember what he said
to me about opening a letter when he was dying?”
She turned slowly, at that, and her eyes were misty and questioning.
“I remember,” she said softly.
“That letter contained a queer document.” His voice was strangely deep
and quiet. “It told where his claim was located, and—it gave it to you
and to me. That’s where I’ve been, Jeanne. I was looking for the claim
and investigating it. It is one of the richest I’ve ever seen. His
document—I don’t know what else to call it—asked us to take it as
partners and develop it.”
It was long before she answered.
“Poor little Smiley!” she murmured. Her lips were trembling and her eyes
were full.
“A finer or braver friend never lived,” he answered gently.
He waited with averted eyes until her heavy breathing calmed. At length
he rose to his feet and began to walk uneasily up and down behind her.
“Jeanne,” he said finally, “there is no reason for—for me beating around
the bush any longer. The first day I came here I told you what had
brought me here. I told you it was you. I still love you—I always have,
and I always will. I can’t be without you any longer, sweetheart. But I
told you also that I would not ask you again until I made my strike—or
until we brought peace and decency back to Red Valley.”
He paused a moment and glanced at her in an effort to read her thoughts.
But her face was turned away from him. She was unconsciously pulling out
blades of the long grass and winding them in and out between her slender
fingers.
“I’ve kept that promise, Jeanne,” he said quietly. “Both conditions were
fulfilled a week ago. I did not come to you then because you had just
been through some terrible experiences, and were—er—weakened from your
wound and depressed and—and pretty well worn out. But now—”
“But now,” she interrupted in a low voice, getting slowly to her feet,
“after deserting me, you follow me out here, and take advantage of me
when I’m lonely and unhappy to—to tell me all—this! It is no use, Rand.”
“Jeanne!” His voice was hurt, dumfounded.
“Yes,” she continued still in the same subdued tone, “I could have given
you my final answer a month ago—and I won’t change it now, Rand, even if
you have taken me unawares!”
She faced him, and his despairing gaze met the deep, tender light that
glowed in her eyes.
“It is no use, you see,” she said softly, “because you must have known
long ago that I love you.”
“Jeanne!” This time the glad cry fairly echoed over the mountain. In a
bound he was beside her. He took her face between his hands.
“You adorable torturer!” he cried. “Why did you give me that terrible
minute?”
“Because,” she murmured, “you kept me—waiting so long till you made your
strike! Did you think _that_ mattered?”
“Good Lord!” The exclamation came forth on a long sigh of relief and
happiness. “Oh, Jeanne, why didn’t I have enough sense to refuse to take
your answer that last time!”
“Why didn’t you!” she breathed. “It would have been just as well.” There
was a little gleam deep in the blue eyes beneath his. “You are so—so
stubborn, Rand, that I knew as soon as you came here it was useless for
me to resist.”
He drew her closer and gently tilted back the blushing face until the
tender sweetness of the red lips lay defenseless before him.
And only the evening star, peeping down from the deepening blue of the
twilighted sky, saw what he did then!
(The end.)