A Breath of Prairie and other stories Part 28

_Patter_, _patter_ sounded the sleet against the window-panes, mingling with the roar of the wind in the chimney, with the short, quick breaths of the man. In silence he reached out, took one of the girl's hands captive, and held it against his cheek.

For a minute--five minutes--she did not stir, did not utter a sound; only the soft oval face tightened until its gentle outlines grew sharp, and the brown skin almost white.

All at once her lips compressed; she had reached a decision.

"Steve, sit up, please; I can talk to you better so." Pityingly, protectingly, she placed an arm around him and drew him close; not as man to maid, but--ah, the pity of it!--as a feeble child to its mother.

"Listen to what I say. To-day is Thursday. Next Monday you are going West, as the doctor orders."

"What--what did you say, Mollie?"

"Next Monday you go West."

"You mean, after all, I'm to have a chance? I'm not going to die like--like a rat?"

For a moment, a swiftly pa.s.sing moment, it was the old vital Steve who spoke; the Babc.o.c.k of a year ago; then, in quick recession, the mood pa.s.sed.

"You don't know what you're talking about, girl. I can't go, I tell you. I haven't the money."

"I'll see that you have the money, Steve."

"You?"

"I've been teaching for eight years, and living at home all the while."

The man, surprised out of his self centredness, looked wonderingly, unbelievingly, at her.

"You never told me, Mollie."

"No, I never saw the need before."

The man's look of wonder pa.s.sed. Another--fearful, dependent, the look of a child in the dark--took its place.

"But--alone, Mollie! A strange land, a strange people, a strange tongue! Oh, I hate myself, girl, hate myself! I've lost my nerve. I can't go alone. I can't."

"You're not going alone, Steve." There was a triumphant note in her voice that thrilled the man through and through. She continued:

"Only this morning--I don't know why I did it; it seems now like Providence pointing the way--I read in the paper about the rich farm lands in South Dakota that are open for settlement. I thought of you at the time, Steve; how such a life might restore your health; but it seemed so impossible, so impracticable, that I soon forgot about it.

"But--Steve--we can each take up a quarter-section--three hundred and twenty acres, altogether. Think of it! We'll soon be rich. There you will have just the sort of outdoor life the doctor says you need."

He looked at her, marvelling.

"Mollie--you don't mean it--now, when I'm--this way!" He arose, his breath coming quick, a deep blot of red in the centre of each cheek.

"It can't be true when--when you'd never let me say anything before."

"Yes, Steve, it's true."

She was so calm, so self-possessed and withal so determined, that the man was incredulous.

"That you'll marry me? Say it, Mollie!"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

"Mollie!" He took a step forward, then of a sudden, abruptly halted.

"But your parents," in swift trepidation. "Mollie, they--"

"Don't let's speak of them,"--sharply. Then in quick contrition, her voice softened; once more it struck the maternal note.

"Pardon me, I'm very tired. Come. We have a spare room; you mustn't go home to-night."

The man stopped, coughed, advanced a step, then stopped again.

"Mollie, I can't thank you; can't ever repay you--"

"You mustn't talk of repaying me," she said shyly, her dark face coloring. It was the first time during the interview that she had shown a trace of embarra.s.sment.

"Come," she said, meeting his look again, her hand on the door; "it's getting late. You must not venture out."

A moment longer the man hesitated, then obeyed. Not until he was very near, so near that he could touch her, did a vestige of his former manhood appear. He paused, and their eyes were locked in a soul-searching look. Then all at once his arm was round her waist, his face beside her face.

"Mollie, girl, won't you--just once?"

"No, no--not that! Don't ask it." Pa.s.sionately the brown hands flew to the brown cheeks, covering them protectingly. But at once came thought, the spirit of sacrifice, and contrition for the involuntary repulse.

"Forgive me, Steve; I'm unaccountable to-night." Her voice, her manner were constrained, subdued. She accepted his injured look without comment, without further defence. She saw the perplexed look on his thin face; then she reached forward--up--and her two soft hands brought his face down to the level of her own.

Deliberately, voluntarily, she kissed him fair upon the lips.

II

The sun was just peering over the rim of the prairie, when Mrs. Warren turned in from the dusty road, picked her way among the browning weeds to the plain, unpainted, shanty-like structure which marked the presence of a homesteader. Except to the east, where stood the tents and shacks of the new railroad's construction gang, not another human habitation broke the dull, monotonous rolling sea of prairie.

Mrs. Warren pounded vigorously upon the rough boards of the door.

A full half-minute she waited; then she glared petulantly at the unresponsive barrier, and pounded upon it again.

Ordinarily she would have waited patiently, for the mult.i.tude of duties of one day often found Mrs. Babc.o.c.k still weary with the dawning of the next--especially since Steve had allied himself with Jack Warren's engineering corps.

Funds had run low, and the two valetudinarians had reached the stage of desperation where they were driven to acknowledge failure, when Jack Warren happened along, in the van of the new railroad.

The work of home-building, from the raw material, had been too much for Steve's enfeebled physique; so it happened that Mollie performed most of his share, as well as all of her own. Yet Steve toiled to the limit of his endurance, and each day, at sundown, flung himself upon his blanket, spread beneath the stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling with weariness. But he soon developed a prodigious appet.i.te, and, after the first few weeks, slept each night like a dead man, until sunrise.

This morning Annie Warren was too full of her errand to pause an instant. She stood a moment listening, one ear to the splintery, unfinished boards, then--