a sandwich minus the pork, so we can each have a slice of toast with our coffee.”
She put a piece of bread on a forked stick and held it out to the blaze. He did the same with the other half of the sandwich. Then they partook of a meagre but welcome breakfast.
“Look!” he said presently in an awed voice.
The sun was sending a glorious searchlight of gold over the highest hill-line.
“Swell, isn’t it?” she commented cheerily.
Her choice of adjectives repelled any further comments on Nature by him.
“I’m not used to sleeping out,” she said, as he carefully raked over the remains of the fire, “and it didn’t seem to rest me. Thank you for making me so comfortable, Mr. Walters.”
She spoke gently; altogether her manner was so much more subdued this morning that he felt the same wave of pity he had felt when Bender had first mentioned her case to him.
“I am sorry,” he said, “that you had to stay out here all night. It was my fault; but you will have a more comfortable resting place to-night.”
A sound was heard: a modern, welcome sound, breaking in distractingly on the primeval silence. Kurt hastened to the road and saw the encouraging prelude of dust. The passing tourist gave him the requisite supply of gasoline and continued on his way.
“Come on, Pen!” called the sheriff.
She suppressed a smile as she followed.
“You called me by my first name,” she couldn’t resist reminding him.
“I didn’t know your last one,” he responded quickly and resentfully as he helped her into the car.
“Let me think. I’ve had so many aliases – suppose I make out a list and let you take your choice. Most of my pals call me ‘The Thief.’”
The look of yesterday came back to his eyes at her flippant tone and words.
“Don’t!” he said harshly. “This morning I had forgotten what you were.”
“I wish I could,” she said forlornly. “We won’t talk about it any more. Play I am pink perfect until we get to this ‘first lady of the land’ up at Top Hill. Oh, but motoring in the dawn is shivery! I loathe early morning when you get up to it. If you stay up for it, it’s different.”
He looked down at her quickly.
In the crisp morning air, her little figure was shaking as if with a chill. Her face was very white, and there was a bluish look about her mouth.
He stopped the car suddenly.
She smiled faintly at his look of concern.
“I’m all right,” she said reassuringly, a spark of raillery again showing in her eyes before they closed, and she fell limply against him.
When she had recovered the consciousness she had lost but momentarily, he was vigorously rubbing her hands.
“How warm and strong your hands feel,” she said with a little sigh of content. “I never did anything so out of date before. I couldn’t help it.”
“You are nearly frozen,” he said brusquely. “Why don’t you wear more clothes?”
“I am wearing all I have,” she said plaintively, with an attempt at a giggle.
A sudden recollection came to him. From under the seat he brought forth a heavy, gray sweater.
“I forgot I had this with me. Put it on.”
“It’s a slip-on. I’ll have to take off my hat and coat to get into it.”
When she removed her soft, shabby, battered hat which she had worn well down over her eyes even while she slept, her hair, rippling bronze and golden lights, fell about her face and shoulders in semi-curls.
He helped her into the sweater.
“It’s sure snug and warm,” she said approvingly, as her head came out of the opening. “I won’t need my coat.”
“No; there’s no warmth in it,” he said, looking disdainfully at the thin, cheap garment. “Throw it away.”
“With pleasure,” she replied gaily. “Here’s to my winter garment of repentance.”
She flung the coat out on the road.
“What did you say?” he asked perplexedly.
“Nothing original. Just some words I st-t – I mean, borrowed.”
She fastened back her hair and picked up her hat.
“Don’t put that on!” he exclaimed, making another search under the seat and bringing forth a soft cap. She set it jauntily on her curls.
“How do you feel now? Well enough to ride on?”
“Yes; I am feeling ‘fair and warmer’ every minute.”
When the car started, she relapsed into silence. The sunshine was flooding the treeless hills and mellowing the cool, clean air. Up and down, as far as the eye could follow, which was very far in this land of great distances, the trail sought the big dominant hills that broke the sky-line before them. The outlook was restful, hopeful, fortifying.
“How are you – all right?” he asked presently.
“Perfectly all right. It’s grand up here in all these high spots.”
“Wait until we reach the hills around our ranch,” he boasted. Then he laughed shortly. “I say ‘our.’ I’m only the foreman.”
“What are you going to tell her about me?” she asked curiously, after another silence.
He slackened the pace and looked at her closely. The sweater and the sunshine had brought a faint tinge of wild-rose color to the transparency of her skin. The flippancy and boldness so prominent in her eyes the day before had disappeared. She looked more as she had when she was asleep in the moonlight. A wave of kindness and brotherliness swept over him.
“I am going to tell her,” he said gently, “that you are a poor little girl who needs a friend.”
“Is that all you will tell her?”
“You may tell her as much or as little of your story as you think you should.”
“You are a good man, but,” she added thoughtfully, “the best of men don’t understand women’s ways toward each other. If I tell her my sordid little story, she may not want to help me – at least, not want to keep me up here in her home. I’ve not found women very helpful.”
“She will help you and keep you, because – ” he hesitated, and then continued earnestly, “before she was married, she was a settlement worker in a large city and she understood such – ”
“As I,” she finished. “I know the settlement workers. They write you up – or down – in a sort of a Rogue Record, and you are classified, indexed, filed
