crimson flood spreading over her face and temples. A slow, amused gleam filled Dakota’s eyes. But plainly he did not intend to set the parson right – he was enjoying Sheila’s confusion. The color fled from her face as suddenly as it had come and was succeeded by the pallor of a cold indignation.
“I’m not married,” she said instantly to the parson; “this gentleman is not my husband.”
“Not?” questioned the parson. “Then how – ” He hesitated and looked quickly at Dakota, but the latter was watching Sheila with an odd smile and the parson looked puzzled.
“This is my first day in this country,” explained Sheila.
The parson did not reply to this, though he continued to watch her intently. She met his gaze steadily and he smiled. “I reckon you’ve been caught on the trail too,” he said, “by the storm.”
Sheila nodded.
“Well, it’s been right wet to-night, an’ it ain’t no night to be galivantin’ around the country. Where you goin’ to?”
“To the Double R ranch.”
“Where’s the Double R?” asked the parson.
“West,” Dakota answered for Sheila; “twenty miles.”
“Off my trail,” said the parson. “I’m travelin’ to Lazette.” He laughed, shortly. “I’m askin’ your pardon, ma’am, for takin’ you to be married; you don’t look like you belonged here – I ought to have knowed that right off.”
Sheila told him that he was forgiven and he had no comment to make on this, but looked at her appraisingly. He drew a bench up near the fire and sat looking at the licking flames, the heat drawing the steam from his clothing as the latter dried. Dakota supplied him with soda biscuit and cold bacon, and these he munched in contentment, talking meanwhile of his travels. Several times while he sat before the fire Dakota spoke to him, and finally he pulled his chair over near the wall opposite the bunk on which Sheila sat, tilted it back, and dropped into it, stretching out comfortably.
After seating himself, Dakota’s gaze sought Sheila. It was evident to Sheila that he was thinking pleasant thoughts, for several times she looked quickly at him to catch him smiling. Once she met his gaze fairly and was certain that she saw a crafty, calculating gleam in his eyes. She was puzzled, though there was nothing of fear from Dakota now; the presence of the parson in the cabin assured her of safety.
A half hour dragged by. The parson did not appear to be sleepy. Sheila glanced at her watch and saw that it was midnight. She wondered much at the parson’s wakefulness and her own weariness. But she could safely go to sleep now, she told herself, and she stretched noiselessly out on the bunk and with one arm bent under her head listened to the parson.
Evidently the parson was itinerant; he spoke of many places – Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, Arizona, Texas; of towns in New Mexico. To Sheila, her senses dulled by the drowsiness that was stealing over her, it appeared that the parson was a foe to Science. His volubility filled the cabin; he contended sonorously that the earth was not round. The Scriptures, he maintained, held otherwise. He called Dakota’s attention to the seventh chapter of Revelation, verse one:
“And after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.”
Several times Sheila heard Dakota laugh, mockingly; he was skeptical, caustic even, and he took issue with the parson. Between them they managed to prevent her falling asleep; kept her in a semidoze which was very near to complete wakefulness.
After a time, though, the argument grew monotonous; the droning of their voices seemed gradually to grow distant; Sheila lost interest in the conversation and sank deeper into her doze. How long she had been unconscious of them she did not know, but presently she was awake again and listening. Dakota’s laugh had awakened her. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw that he was still seated in the chair beside the wall and that his eyes were alight with interest as he watched the parson.
“So you’re going to Lazette, taking it on to him?”
The parson nodded, smiling. “When a man wants to get married he’ll not care much about the arrangements – how it gets done. What he wants to do is to get married.”
“That’s a queer angle,” Dakota observed. He laughed immoderately.
The parson laughed with him. It was an odd situation, he agreed. Never, in all his experience, had he heard of anything like it.
He had stopped for a few hours at Dry Bottom. While there a rider had passed through, carrying word that a certain man in Lazette, called “Baldy,” desired to get married. There was no minister in Lazette, not even a justice of the peace. But Baldy wanted to be married, and his bride-to-be objected to making the trip to Dry Bottom, where there were both a parson and a justice of the peace. Therefore, failing to induce the lady to go to the parson, it followed that Baldy must contrive to have the parson come to the lady. He dispatched the rider to Dry Bottom on this quest.
The rider had found that there was no regular parson in Dry Bottom and that the justice of the peace had departed the day before to some distant town for a visit. Luckily for Baldy’s matrimonial plans, the parson had been in Dry Bottom when the rider arrived, and he readily consented – as he intended to pass through Lazette anyway – to carry Baldy’s license to him and perform the ceremony.
“Odd, ain’t it?” remarked the parson, after he had concluded.
“That’s a queer angle,” repeated Dakota. “You got the license?” he inquired softly. “Mebbe you’ve lost it.”
“I reckon not.” The parson fumbled in a pocket, drawing out a folded paper. “I’ve got it, right enough.”
“You’ve got no objections to me looking at it?” came Dakota’s voice. Sheila saw him rise. There was a strange smile on his face.
“No objections. I reckon you’ll be usin’ one yourself one of these days.”
“One of these days,” echoed Dakota with a laugh as strange as his smile a moment before. “Yes – I’m thinking of using one one of these days.”
The parson spread the paper out on the table. Together he and Dakota bent their heads over it. After reading the license Dakota stood erect. He laughed, looking at the parson.
“There ain’t a name on it,” he said, “not a name.”
“They’re reckonin’ to fill in the names when they’re married,” explained the parson. “That there rider ought to have knowed the names, but he didn’t. Only knowed that the man was called ‘Baldy.’ Didn’t know the bride’s name at all. But it don’t make any difference; they wouldn’t have had to have a license at all in this Territory. But it makes it look more regular when they’ve got one. All that’s got to be done is for Baldy to go over to Dry Bottom an’ have the names recorded. Bein’ as I can’t go, I’m to certify in the license.”
“Sure,” said Dakota slowly. “It makes things more regular to have a license – more regular to have you certify.”
Looking at Dakota, Sheila thought she saw in his face a certain preoccupation; he was evidently not thinking of what he was saying at all; the words had come involuntarily, automatically almost, it seemed, so inexpressive were they. “Sure,”
