too late!
From that moment the ride grew different, even as I improved with leaps and bounds. Sanderson behind us, the long gray barren between Sanderson and the Rio Grande behind us, Del Rio for two days, where I was able to sit up, all behind us—and the eastward trail to Uvalde before us! We were the only passengers on the stage from Del Rio to Uvalde. Perhaps Steele had so managed the journey. Assuredly he had become an individual with whom traveling under the curious gaze of strangers would have been embarrassing. He was most desperately in love. And Diane, all in a few days, while riding these long, tedious miles, ordinarily so fatiguing, had renewed her bloom, had gained what she had lost. She, too, was desperately in love, though she remembered her identity occasionally, and that she was in the company of a badly shot-up young man and a broken-hearted cousin.
Most of the time Diane and Steele rode on top of the stage. When they did ride inside their conduct was not unbecoming; indeed, it was sweet to watch; yet it loosed the fires of jealous rage and longing in me; and certainly had some remarkable effect upon Sally. Gradually she had been losing that strange and somber mood she had acquired, to brighten and change more and more. Perhaps she divined something about Diane and Steele that escaped me. Anyway, all of a sudden she was transformed. “Look here, if you people want to spoon, please get out on top,” she said.
If that was not the old Sally Langdon I did not know who it was. Miss Sampson tried to appear offended, and Steele tried to look insulted, but they both failed. They could not have looked anything but happy. Youth and love were too strong for this couple, whom circumstances might well have made grave and thoughtful. They were magnet and steel, powder and spark. Any moment, right before my eyes, I expected them to rush right into each other's arms. And when they refrained, merely substituting clasped hands for a dearer embrace, I closed my eyes and remembered them, as they would live in my memory forever, standing crushed together on the ridge that day, white lips to white lips, embodying all that was beautiful, passionate and tragic.
And I, who had been their undoing, in the end was their salvation. How I hugged that truth to my heart!
It seemed, following Sally's pert remark, that after an interval of decent dignity, Diane and Steele did go out upon the top of the stage. “Russ,” whispered Sally, “they're up to something. I heard a few words. I bet you they're going to get married in San Antonio.”
“Well, it's about time,” I replied.
“But oughtn't they take us into their confidence?”
“Sally, they have forgotten we are upon the earth.”
“Oh, I'm so glad they're happy!”
Then there was a long silence. It was better for me to ride lying down, in which position I was at this time. After a mile Sally took my hand and held it without speaking. My heart leaped, but I did not open my eyes or break that spell even with a whisper. “Russ, I must say—tell you—”
She faltered, and still I kept my eyes closed. I did not want to wake up from that dream. “Have I been very —very sad?” she went on.
“Sad and strange, Sally. That was worse than my bullet-holes.” She gripped my hand. I felt her hair on my brow, felt her breath on my cheek.
“Russ, I swore—I'd hate you if you—if you—”
“I know. Don't speak of it,” I interposed hurriedly.
“But I don't hate you. I—I love you. And I can't give you up!”
“Darling! But, Sally, can you get over it—can you forget?”
“Yes. That horrid black spell had gone with the miles. Little by little, mile after mile, and now it's gone! But I had to come to the point. To go back on my word! To tell you. Russ, you never,
Then I opened my eyes and my arms, too, and we were reunited. It must have been a happy moment, so happy that it numbed me beyond appreciation. “Yes, Sally,” I agreed; “but no man ever had such a wonderful girl.”
“Russ, I never—took off your ring,” she whispered.
“But you hid your hand from my sight,” I replied quickly.
“Oh dear Russ, we're crazy—as crazy as those lunatics outside. Let's think a little.”
I was very content to have no thought at all, just to see and feel her close to me.
“Russ, will you give up the Ranger Service for me?” she asked.
“Indeed I will.”
“And leave this fighting Texas, never to return till the day of guns and Rangers and bad men and even-breaks is past?”
“Yes.”
“Will you go with me to my old home? It was beautiful once, Russ, before it was let run to rack and ruin. A thousand acres. An old stone house. Great mossy oaks. A lake and river. There are bear, deer, panther, wild boars in the breaks. You can hunt. And ride! I've horses, Russ, such horses! They could run these scrubby broncos off their legs. Will you come?”
“Come! Sally, I rather think I will. But, dearest, after I'm well again I must work,” I said earnestly. “I've got to have a job.”
“You're indeed a poor cowboy out of a job! Remember your deceit. Oh, Russ! Well, you'll have work, never fear.”
“Sally, is this old home of yours near the one Diane speaks of so much?” I asked.
“Indeed it is. But hers has been kept under cultivation and in repair, while mine has run down. That will be our work, to build it up. So it's settled then?”
