She still leaned against the door, but her head was bent.
Presently she went about her housework. Every now and then she shot a
wistful look at Pierre. All morning long, he sat there, his hands
hanging between his knees, his eyes full of a brooding trouble. At
noon he shook his head, got up, and, still without word or caress, he
strode out and did not come back till dark. Joan suffered heartache
and terror. When he came, she ran into his arms. He kissed her, seemed
quite himself again, and the strange interview was never mentioned by
either of them. They were silent people, given to feelings and to
action rather than to thoughts and words.
The other memory was of a certain sunset hour when she came at
Pierre's call out to the shed he had built at one side of their cabin.
Its open side faced the west, and, as Joan came, her shadow went
before her and fell across Pierre at work. The flame of the west gave
a weird pallor to the flames over which he bent. He was whistling, and
hammering at a long piece of iron. Joan came and stood beside him.
Suddenly he straightened up and held in the air a bar of metal, the
shaped end white hot. Joan blinked.
"That's our brand, gel," said Pierre. "Don't you fergit it. When I've
made my fortune there'll be stock all over the country marked with
them two bars. That'll be famous--the Two-Bar Brand. Don't you fergit
it, Joan."
And he brought the white iron close so that she felt its heat on her
face and drew back, flinching. He laughed, let it fall, and kissed
her. Joan was very glad and proud.