er were several pots and pans--his cooking
utensils. On a shelf were some dishes. A guitar swung from a gaudy string
suspended from the wall. A tin of tobacco and a pipe reposed on another
shelf beside a box of matches. A bunk filled a corner and she went over to
it, fearing. But it was clean and the bed clothing fresh and she smiled a
little as she continued her examination.

The latter finished she went to a small window above the bunk, looking out
into the night. The rain came against the glass in stinging slants, and
watching it she found herself feeling very grateful to the man who stood
in the doorway. Turning abruptly, she caught him watching her, an
appraising smile on his face.

"You ought to be hungry by now," he said. "There's a fireplace and some
wood. Do you want a fire?"

In response to her nod he kindled a fire, she standing beside the window
watching him, noting his lithe, easy movements. She could not mistake the
strength and virility of his figure, even with his back turned to her, but
it seemed to her that there was a certain recklessness in his actions--as
though his every movement advertised a careless regard for consequences.
She held her breath when he split a short log into slender splinters, for
he swung the short-handled axe with a loose grasp, as though he cared very
little where its sharp blade landed. But she noted that he struck with
precision despite his apparent carelessness, every blow falling true. His
manner of handling the axe reflected the spirit that shone in his eyes
when, after kindling the fire, he stood up and looked at her.

"There's grub in the chuck box," he stated shortly. "There's some pans and
things. It ain't what you might call elegant--not what you've been used
to, I expect. But it's a heap better than nothing, and I reckon you'll be
able to get along." He turned and walked to the doorway, standing in it
for an instant, facing out. "Good-night," he added. The tarpaulin dangled
from his arm.

Evidently he intended going away. A sudden dread of being alone filled
her. "Wait!" she cried involuntarily. "Where are you going?"

He halted and looked back at her, an odd smile on his face.

"To my bunk."

"Oh!" She could not analyze the smile on his face, but in it she thought
she detected something subtle--untruthfulness perhaps. She glanced at the
tarpaulin and from it to his eyes, holding her gaze steadily.

"You are going to sleep in the open," she said.

He caugh