les unless there's a real need for it. I--"
Why did he pause? "I'll pay for anything I get here."

His voice was not too certain; behind his teeth there was knocking a
desire to cry out to her the truth. "I am Donnegan. Donnegan the tramp.
Donnegan the shiftless. Donnegan the fighter. Donnegan the killer.
Donnegan the penniless, worthless. But for heaven's sake let me stay
until morning and let me look at you--from a distance!"

But, after all, perhaps he did not need to say all these things. His
clothes were rags, upon his face there was a stubble of unshaven red,
which made the pallor about his eyes more pronounced. If the girl had
been half blind she must have felt that here was a man of fire. He saw
her gather the wrap a little closer about her shoulders, and that sign
of fear made him sick at heart.

"Mr. Donnegan," said the girl. "I am sorry. We cannot take you into the
house. Eight miles--"

Did she expect to turn a sinner from the gates of heaven with a mere
phrase? He cast out his hand, and she winced as though he had shaken his
fist at her.

"Are you afraid?" cried Donnegan.

"I don't control the house."

He paused, not that her reply had baffled him, but the mere pleasure of
hearing her speak accounted for it. It was one of those low, light
voices which are apt to have very little range or volume, and which
break and tremble absurdly under any stress of emotion; and often they
become shrill in a higher register; but inside conversational limits, if
such a term may be used, there is no fiber so delightful, so purely
musical. Suppose the word "velvet" applied to a sound. That voice came
soothingly and delightfully upon the ear of Donnegan, from which the
roar and rattle of the empty freight train had not quite departed. He
smiled at her.

"But," he protested, "this is west of the Rockies--and I don't see any
other way out."

The girl, all this time, was studying him intently, a little sadly, he
thought. Now she shook her head, but there was more warmth in her voice.

"I'm sorry. I can't ask you to stay without first consulting my father."

"Go ahead. Ask him."

She raised her hand a little; the thought seemed to bring her to the
verge of trembling, as though he were asking a sacrilege.

"Why not?" he urged.

She did not answer, but, instead, her eyes sought the old, woman, as if
to gain her interposition; she burst instantly into speech.

"Which there's no good talking any more," declared the