as he turned to go that night. I don't think he could forget. But if they just hold off a few days more "
If he had owned the flocks himself, Hugh couldn't have been happier at the thoughts of victory. There had been nothing easy or soft about the project of the sheep. He had given his own nerve and sinew, he had fought a tireless battle, and nothing in his life had ever mattered so much. It was the first real test and undertaking of his manhood: besides, it was all for Alice. Victory was at hand; and surely fate would not cheat them now. They had already started the flocks downward, following one of the tributaries of Silver Creek where there was still enough water for the flock. Early in October he would take them to a certain well-watered pasture on the lower slopes. In the meantime the rangers would come to his aid.
Suddenly he reached out and took her little, hard, brown hand in his. It yielded to his palm, and just for an instant he touched it to his cheek. Yet he didn't look into her eyes. He was fearful—to the depths of his being—of the expression that might be read in them.
"Alice, it's been a good fight," he said simply. "And ever since the world began—when a good fight has been fought—it's the soldier's right to make certain requests—that he never had the right or the courage to make before."
She nodded, and slowly he released her hand.
