d Weston, smiling, "he certainly can't. I and a good many
more of the boys know that from experience."

"Ah," said Ida reflectively, "that destroys another chance. Well, I am
glad that I have seen you, but I think I must join Mrs. Kinnaird now."

She held out the hand she had laid on the rail. It happened that as
she did it the train swung around a curve. The car slanted sharply,
and she swayed with the effort to keep her balance. In another moment
Weston's arm was around her waist. Then there was empty blackness
beneath them as the cars sped out upon a slender trestle, and the roar
of a torrent came up from below through the clash and clatter and
clamor of the wheels. There was probably no risk at all, for there
were rails on either side of them, but the girl, who had almost lost
her footing, was glad of the man's steadying hand, and did not draw
herself away until the big locomotives were speeding smoothly on
beneath the shadowy pines again. Then she drew back a pace or two.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Weston took off his battered hat, and, stepping across the platform,
opened the door of the adjoining car. When she had passed through it,
he sat down and took out his pipe, with a curious little thrill
running through him and his nerves tingling.

Ida, also, felt her face grow a trifle hot, and, though she was as
composed as usual when she joined Mrs. Kinnaird, her thoughts were
busy for some time afterward. The man, she admitted, had done no more
than was warranted, but there was no disguising the fact that his
supporting grasp had had a disconcerting effect on her. Then she
dismissed the thoughts of that, and remembered with compassion how
lean and worn he looked. There was also something that stirred her
sympathy in the idea of his saddling himself with the care of a
helpless comrade who had no real claim on him, though that was, she
decided, after all, the kind of thing one would expect from him. Then,
recognizing that this was admitting a good deal, she endeavored to
interest herself in what Mrs. Kinnaird was saying.

It was late at night when the train stopped again, and Weston did not
know that when he and his companions alighted at a little desolate
station among the ranges, the blind of one window in the big sleeper
was drawn aside. In a few moments the train went on, but Ida Stirling
did not sleep for some time afterward. She had had a momentary glimpse
of a ragged man standing with the lamplight o