"How does it sound, you and me making a home
together?" Lite was growing pale, and his hands
trembled. "Tell me."
"It sounds--good," said Jean unsteadily.
For several minutes Lite did not say a word. They
sat there
holding hands quite
foolishly, and stared out
at the drenched desert.
"Soon as your dad comes," he said at last, very
simply, "we'll be married." He was silent another minute,
and added under his
breath like a prayer, "And
we'll all go--home."
CHAPTER XXVI
HOW HAPPINESS RETURNED TO THE LAZY A
When Lite rapped with his knuckles on the door
of the room where she was
waiting, Jean stood
with her hands pressed
tightly over her face, every
muscle rigid with the
restraint she was putting upon
herself. For Lite this three-day
interval had been too
full of going here and there, attending to the manifold
details of untangling the various threads of their broken
life-pattern, for him to feel the
suspense which Jean
had suffered. She had not done much. She had
waited. And now, with Lite and her dad standing
outside the door, she almost dreaded the meeting. But
she took a deep
breath and walked to the door and
opened it.
"Hello, dad," she cried with a
nervous gaiety.
"Give your dear daughter a kiss!" She had not
meant to say that at all.
Tall and gaunt and gray and old; lines etched deep
ground his bitter mouth; pale with the
tragic prison
pallor; looking out at the world with the
somber eyes
of one who has suffered most cruelly,--Aleck Douglas
put out his thin, shaking arms and held her close. He
did not say anything at all; and the kiss she asked for
he laid
softly upon her hair.
Lite stood in the
doorway and looked at the two of
them for a moment. "I'm going down to see about--
things. I'll be back in a little while. And, Jean, will
you be ready?"
Jean looked up at him understandingly, and with
a certain shyness in her eyes. "If it's all right with
dad," she told him, "I'll be ready."
"Lite's a man!" Aleck stated unsmilingly, with a
trace of that
apathy which had hurt Jean so in the
warden's office. "I'm glad you'll have him to take care
of you, Jean."
So Lite closed the door
softly and went away and
left those two alone.
In a very few words I can tell you the rest. There
were a few things to
adjust, and a few arrangements to
make. The greatest
adjustment, perhaps, was when
Jean begged off from that contract with the Great
Western Company. Dewitt did not want to let her go,
but he had read a marked article in a Montana paper
that Lite mailed to him in advance of their return, and
he realized that some things are greater even than the
needs of a motion-picture company. He was very nice,
therefore, to Jean. He told her by all means to consider
herself free to give her time
wholly to her father
--and her husband. He also congratulated Lite in
terms that made Jean blush and beat a
hurried retreat
from his office, and that made Lite grin all the way to
the hotel. So the public lost Jean of the Lazy A
almost as soon as it had
learned to
welcome her.
Then there was Pard, that had to leave the little
buckskin and take that nerve-racking trip back to the
Lazy A. Lite attended to that with perfect calm and
a good deal of inner elation. So that detail was soon
adjusted.
At the Lazy A there was a great deal to do before the
traces of its
tragedy were wiped out. We'll have to
leave them doing that work, which was only a matter
of time, after all, and not nearly so hard to accomplish
as their attempts to wipe out from Aleck's soul the black
scar of those three years. I think, on the whole, we
shall leave them doing that work, too. As much as
human love and happiness could do toward wiping out
the
bitterness they would accomplish, you may be sure,
--give them time enough.
End