Susan watched him go,
his tall, high-shouldered figure astride the mare's broad back, one arm
flung outward with the rope dipping to the current. As the water rose
round his feet, he gave a wild, jubilant shout and went forward,
plowing deeper with every step, his cries swelling over the river's low
song.
Susan, left on the near bank to wait till the wagons were drawn up,
lifted herself into the crotch of a cottonwood tree. The pastoral
simplicity of the scene, the men and animals moving through the
silver-threaded water with the wagons waiting and after the work the
camp to be pitched, exhilarated her with a conviction of true living,
of existence flowing naturally as the stream. And for the moment David
seemed the great figure in hers. With a thrill at her heart she
watched him receding through the open wash of air and water, shouting
in the jubilance of his manhood. The mischievous pleasure of her
coquetries was forgotten, and in a rush of glad confidence she felt a
woman's pride in him. This was the way she should see the man who was
to win her, not in stuffy rooms, not dressed in stiff, ungainly
clothes, not saying unmeaning things to fill the time.
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