as still fresh in her
mind a recollection of another cabin in which she had once passed many
fearsome hours, but while she hesitated, on the verge of flight, Doubler
came to the door, and when she saw that he was an old man with a kindly
face, much of her perturbation vanished, and she remained to talk.

Doubler was hospitable and solicitous and supplied her with some soda
biscuit and fresh beef and a tin cup full of delicious coffee. She refused
to enter the cabin, and so he brought the food out to her and sat on the
step beside her while she ate, betraying much interest in her.

Doubler asked no questions regarding her identity, and Sheila marveled
much over this. But when she prepared to depart she understood why he had
betrayed no curiosity concerning her.

"I reckon you're that Langford girl?" he said.

"Yes," returned Sheila, wondering. "I am Sheila Langford. But who told
you? I was not aware that anyone around here knew me--except the people at
the Double R."

"Dakota told me."

"Oh!" A chill came into her voice which instantly attracted Doubler's
attention. He looked at her with an odd smile.

"You know Dakota?"

"I have met him."

"You don't like him, I reckon?"

"No."

"Well, now," commented Doubler, "I reckon I've got things mixed. But from
Dakota's talk I took it that you an' him was pretty thick."

"His talk?" Sheila remembered Dakota's statement that he had told no one
of their relations. So he _had_ been talking, after all! She was not
surprised, but she was undeniably angry and embarrassed to think that
perhaps all the time she had been talking to Doubler he might have been
appraising her on the basis of her adventure with Dakota.

"What has he been saying?" she demanded coldly.

"Nothing, ma'am. That is, nothin' which any man wouldn't say about you,
once he'd seen you an' talked some to you." Doubler surveyed her with
sparkling, appreciative eyes.

"As a rule it don't pay to go to gossipin' with anyone--least of all with
a woman. But I reckon I can tell you what he said, ma'am, without you
gettin' awful mad. He didn't say nothin' except that he'd taken an awful
shine to you. An' he'd likely make things mighty unpleasant for me if he'd
find that I'd told you that."

"Shine?" There was a world of scornful wonder in Sheila's voice. "Would
you mind telling me what 'taking a shine' to anyone means?"

"Why, no, I reckon I don't mind, ma'am, seein' that it's you. 'Takin' a
shine' to you m