Conniston came and went superintending every part of the work, and,
although he was still the gaunt, tired man he had been two weeks ago,
he was no longer tight-lipped and somber-eyed. He smiled often; he
laughed readily, like a boy. Argyl, her clean, healthy, resilient
young body and spirit having shaken off the effects of the clutch of
the desert, was the same Argyl who had raced for the Overland Limited
that day when Conniston had first seen her; her laugh was as
spontaneous as his, sparkling and free and buoyantly youthful. Mr.
Crawford was quiet, saying few words, but the little lines of care had
gone from the corners of eyes and mouth. Tommy Garton was the
proverbial cricket on the hearth of the Valley's big family. Brayley
looked upon his ditches with the gleam in his eye bespeaking a deep
pride like the pride of ownership and a big, strong love. Jimmie Kent
assured whomever would listen that he was glad that he had stayed, and
that he had a mind to call on his old friend Oliver to see how he was
feeling. Rattlesnake Valley had become the Happy Valley. With the
first of October ten days off there was no shadow of doubt in a single
heart that the Great Work would be a finished, actual, successful
thing before the dawn of the Great Day.
Upon the twentieth day of September Greek Conniston, being in Valley
City, received a telegram which puzzled him.
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