happened. One of the horses dropped dead, and Red
Kimball and his men jumped on the other three.... But I wonder what
became of the driver?"

"Get inside!" he ordered. "Thank God, we've found SOMETHING that we
can get inside of. That'll shelter us till morning, anyway, and then
we can determine what's to be done."

Once in the coach, they were safe from the wind which howled above and
around them, rattling the small windows and making the springs creak.
There was no help for the discomfort of soaking garments, but Wilfred
lighted a reserve lantern and placed it in a corner, while thick
leather cushions and stage-blankets offered some prospect of rest.

As no plans could be formed until morning revealed their real plight,
they agreed that all conversation should be foregone in order to
recuperate from the hardships of the day for the trials of tomorrow.
Lahoma soon fell asleep after her exhausting journey of a day and half
a night since leaving the train at Chickasha.

For hours Wilfred sat opposite, staring at her worn face, pathetic in
its youthful roundness from which the bloom had vanished, wondering at
her grace, beauty, helplessness and perfect faith in him. That faith
revealed in every line of the form lying along the seat, and spoke from
the unconscious face from which the brown hair was outspread to dry.

How oddly her voice had sounded, how strange had been its accent when
she said, "It never entered my mind that _I_ was the little girl!" Had
she been sorry for the thought to come? Did she think less of him
because he had not remained true to Annabel? Would it not have been
far better to wait until reaching their destination before hinting of
love? Even while perplexed over these problems, and while charmed by
that appealing face with the softly parted lips, by the figure that
stirred in the rhythm of slumber, other thoughts, other objects weighed
upon him--the two dead men, the dead horse just outside. One of those
men might be Red Kimball; other bodies might lie there which he had
failed to discover. Had the stage been attacked by Indians, or by
white desperadoes who found shelter in the Kiowa country? In either
case, might not the enemy be hovering about the trail, possibly waiting
to descend on the coach?

Armed and watchful, Wilfred waited through the hours. When no longer
able to bear the uncertainty, he crept from the stage with the lantern,
and examined the recent scene of a furious s