"Unusually tall you think?"

"I know!"

"That's a good point for identification. How about her complexion, hair,
and eyes?"

"Very large, dark eyes, and a great mass of black hair."

The doctor roared.

"The eyes may help," he said. "All women have masses of hair these days.
I hope----"

"Her hair is fast to her head," said the Harvester indignantly. "I saw
it at close range, and I know. It went around like a crown."

The doctor choked down a laugh. He wanted to say that every woman's hair
was like a crown at present, but there were things no man ventured with
David Langston; those who knew him best, least of any. So he suggested,
"And her colouring?"

"She was white and rosy, a lovely thing in the dream," said the
Harvester, "but something dreadful has happened. That's all wiped out
now. She was very pale when she left the car."

"Car sick, maybe."

"Soul sick!" was the grim reply.

Then Doctor Carey appeared so disturbed the Harvester noticed it.

"You needn't think I'd be here prating about her if I wasn't FORCED.
If she had been rosy and well as she was in the dream, I'd have made
my hunt alone and found her, too. But when I saw she was sick and in
trouble, it took all the courage out of me, and I broke for help. She
must be found at once, and when she is you are probably the first man
I'll want. I am going to put up a pretty stiff search myself, and if I
find her I'll send or get her to you if I can. Put her in the best ward
you have and anything money will do----"

The face of the doctor was growing troubled.

"Day coach or Pullman?" he asked.

"Day."

"How was she dressed?"

"Small black hat, very plain. Gray jacket and skirt, neat as a flower."

"What you'd call expensively dressed?"

The Harvester hesitated.

"What I'd call carefully dressed, but----but poverty poor, if you will
have it, Doc."

Doctor Carey's lips closed and then opened in sudden resolution.

"David, I don't like it," he said tersely.

The Harvester met his eye and purposely misunderstood him.

"Neither do I!" he exclaimed. "I hate it! There is something wrong with
the whole world when a woman having a face full of purity, intellect,
and refinement of extreme type glances around her like a hunted thing;
when her appearance seems to indicate that she has starved her body to
clothe it. I know what is in your mind, Doc, but if I were you I
wouldn't put it into words, and I wouldn't even THINK it. Has it been
you