“Why, I hope he loves me,” murmured Jessamine.  “Always.”

“Well, I hope so too,” said Billy, earnestly.  “For I like you.  When I seen him show you our cabin on Box Elder, and the room he had fixed for you, I was glad you were coming to be my mother.  Mother used to be awful.  I wouldn’t ‘a’ minded her licking me if she’d done other things.  Ah, pshaw!  I wasn’t going to stand that.”  Billy now came close to Jessamine.  “I do wish you would come and live with me and Lin,” said he.  “Lin’s awful nice.”

“Don’t I know it?” said Jessamine, tenderly.

“Cause I heard you say you were going to marry him,” went on Billy.  “And I seen him kiss you and you let him that time we went away when you found out about mother.  And you’re not mad, and he’s not, and nothing happens at all, all the same!  Won’t you tell me, please?”

Jessamine’s eyes were glistening, and she took him in her lap.  She was not going to tell him that he was too young this time.  But whatever things she had shaped to say to the boy were never said.

Through the noise of the gale came the steadier sound of the train, and the girl rose quickly to preside over her ticket-office and duties behind the railing in the front room of the station.  The boy ran to the window to watch the great event of Separ’s day.  The locomotive loomed out from the yellow clots of drift, paused at the water-tank, and then with steam and humming came slowly on by the platform.  Slowly its long dust-choked train emerged trundling behind it, and ponderously halted.  There was no one to go.  No one came to buy a ticket of Jessamine.  The conductor looked in on business, but she had no telegraphic orders for him.  The express agent jumped off and looked in for pleasure.  He received his daily smile and nod of friendly discouragement.  Then the light bundle of mail was flung inside the door.  Separ had no mail to go out.  As she was picking up the letters young Billy passed her like a shadow, and fled out.  Two passengers had descended from the train, a man and a large woman.  His clothes were loose and careless upon him.  He held valises, and stood uncertainly looking about him in the storm.  Her firm, heavy body was closely dressed.  In her hat was a large, handsome feather.  Along between the several cars brakemen leaned out, watched her, and grinned to each other.  But her big, hard-shining blue eyes were fixed curiously upon the station where Jessamine was.

“It’s all night we may be here, is it?” she said to the man, harshly.

“How am I to help that?” he retorted.

“I’ll help it.  If this hotel’s the sty it used to be, I’ll walk to Tommy’s.  I’ve not saw him since I left Bear Creek.”

She stalked into the hotel, while the man went slowly to the station.  He entered, and found Jessamine behind her railing, sorting the slim mail.

“Good-evening,” he said.  “Excuse me.  There was to be a wagon sent here.”