R XXV

LITE COMES OUT OF THE BACKGROUND

For hours Jean had sat staring out at the drear stretches of desert
dripping under the dismal rain that streaked the car windows. The
clouds hung leaden and gray close over the earth; the smoke from the
engine trailed a funereal plume across the grease-wood covered plain.
Away in the distance a low line of hills stretched vaguely, as though
they were placed there to hold up the sky that was so heavy and dank.
Alongside the track every ditch ran full of clay-colored water that
wrapped little, ragged wreaths of dirty foam around every obstruction,
like the tawdry finery of the slums.

From the smoking-room where he had been for the past two hours with Art
Osgood, Lite came unsteadily down the aisle, heralded as it were by the
muffled scream of the whistle at a country crossing. Jean turned
toward him a face as depressed as the desert out there under the rain.
Lite, looking at her keenly, saw on her cheeks the traces of tears. He
let himself down wearily into the seat beside her, reached over calmly,
and took her hand from off her lap and held it snugly in his own.

"This is likely a snowstorm, up home," he said in his quiet,
matter-of-fact way. "I guess we'll have to make our headquarters in
town till I get things hauled out to the ranch. That's it, when you
can't look ahead and see what's coming. I could have had everything
ready to go right on out, only I thought there wouldn't be any use,
before spring, anyway. But if this storm ain't a blizzard up there, a
couple of days will straighten things out."

Jean turned her head and regarded him attentively. "Out where?" she
asked him bluntly. "What are you talking about? Have you and Art been
celebrating?" She knew better than that. Lite never indulged in liquid
celebrations, and Jean knew it.

Lite reached into his pocket with the hand that was free, and drew
forth a telegram envelope. He released her hand while he drew out the
message, but he did not hand it to her immediately. "I wired Rossman
from Los Angeles," he informed her, "and told him what was up, and
asked him to put me up to date on that end of the line. So he did. I
got this back there at that last town." He laid his hand over hers
again, and looked down at her sidelong.

"Ever since the trouble," he began abruptly, but still in that quiet,
matter-of-fact way, "I've been playing a lone hand and kinda holding
back and waiting for something to drop.