er shoulders, and slipped silently away.

III

Mollie Babcock was listlessly going about some imperative domestic
task, behind the mean structure which represented home for her, when
Steve came upon her.

She was not looking for him. He had been gone so long, out there
somewhere, in that abomination of desolation, building a railroad,
that the morbid fancy had come to dwell with her that the prairie had
swallowed him, and that she would never see him more. So he came upon
her unawares.

The buffalo grass rustled with the passage of her skirts. His eyes
lighted, the man seemed to grow in stature--six feet of sun-blessed,
primitive health. Now was the time--

"Mollie!"

There was a sudden gasp from the woman. With a hand to her throat, she
wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.

"I'm back at last. Aren't you glad to see me?"

She was as pallid as an Easter-lily; pallid, despite the fact that she
had decided, and had nerved herself for his coming.

Steve was puzzled. "Mollie, girl"--he did not advance, merely stood as
he was--"aren't you glad to see me? Won't you--come?"

There was a long space of silence; the woman did not stir. Then a
strange, inarticulate cry was smothered in her throat. Swiftly, all
but desperately, she stumbled blindly forward, although her eyes were
shining with the enchantment of his presence; close to him she came,
flung her arms around his broad chest, and strained him to her with
the abandon of a wild creature.

"Steve!" tensely, "how could you? Glad? You know I'm glad--oh, so
glad! You startled me, that was all."

"Mollie, girlie"--he lifted her at arms' length, joying in this
testimony of his renewed strength and manhood--"I rode all last night
to get here--to see you. Are you happy, girlie, happy?"

"Yes, Steve"--her voice was chastened to a murmur--"I--I'm very
happy."

"That completes my happiness." Drawing her tenderly to him, he kissed
her again and again--hungrily, passionately; then, abruptly, he fell
to scrutinizing her, with a meaning that she was quick to interpret.

"Isn't there something you've forgotten, Mollie?"

"No, I've not forgotten, Steve." She drew the bearded face down to her
own. Had Steve been observant he would have noticed that the lips so
near his own were trembling; but he was not observant, this Steve
Babcock. Once, twice and again she kissed him.

"I think I'll never forget, Steve, man--never!" With one hand she
indicated the prairie that