ble, folding
his arms under him.

"You have been very good to us, Miss Cynthia," he said. "My men want me
to say so."

"Your men are welcome," she answered, resting her cheek on her hand.

There was a long silence, broken by her: "You are dying for sleep. Why
do you deny it? You may lie down on my bed if you wish."

He protested, thanking her, but said he would be glad to sleep in the
hay if she permitted; and he rose, steadying himself by the back of his
chair.

"I always sleep bridle in hand," he said. "A barn floor is luxury for my
horse and me."

That would not do. The horse must remain. She _must_ have that horse!

"I will watch your horse," she said. "Please lie down there. I really
wish it."

"Why, ma'am, I should never venture----"

She looked at him; her heart laughed with content. Here was an easy way
for stern necessity.

"Sleep soundly," she said, with a gay smile; and before he could
interpose, she had slipped out and shut the door behind her.

The evening was calm; the last traces of color were fading from the
zenith. Pacing the circle of the cabin clearing, she counted the
videttes--one in the western pasture, one sitting his saddle in the
forest road to the east, and a horseman to the south, scarcely visible
in the gathering twilight. She passed the barnyard, head lifted
pensively, carefully counting the horses tethered there. Twelve! Then
there was no guard for the northern cattle path--the trail over which
she and they had come!

Now walking slowly back to the cabin, she dropped her slippers and
mounted the steps on bare feet, quietly opening the door. At first in
the dim light she could see nothing, then her keen ear caught the quiet
sound of his breathing, and she stole over to the bed. He lay there
asleep.

Now seconds meant eternity, perhaps; she mounted the ladder to the
attic, tiptoed over the loose boards, felt around for her packet, and
loosened the blanket.

By sense of touch alone she dressed, belting in the habit with her
girdle, listening, every sense alert. But her hand never shook, her
fingers were deft and steady, fastening button and buckle, looping up
her skirt, strapping the revolver to her girdle. She folded map and
papers noiselessly, tucking them into her bosom; then, carrying her
spurred boots, she crept across the boards again, and descended the
ladder without a sound.

The fading light from the window fell upon the bed where he lay; and she
smiled almost te