LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter II. The Dim Trail

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      Sheila had been dreaming of a world in which there was nothing but rain and mud and clouds and reckless-eyed individuals who conversed in irritating drawls when a sharp crash of thunder awakened her. During her sleep she had turned her face to the wall, and when her eyes opened the first thing that her gaze rested on was the small window above her head. She regarded it for some time, following with her eyes the erratic streams that trickled down the glass, stretching out wearily, listening to the wind. It was cold and bleak outside and she had much to be thankful for.

      She was glad that she had not allowed the mysterious inhabitant of the cabin to sleep out in his tarpaulin, for the howling of the wind brought weird thoughts into her mind; she reflected upon her helplessness and it was extremely satisfying to know that within ten feet of her lay a man whose two big revolvers—even though she feared them—seemed to insure protection. It was odd, she told herself, that she should place so much confidence in Dakota, and her presence in the cabin with him was certainly a breach of propriety which—were her friends in the East to hear of it—would arouse much comment—entirely unfavorable to her. Yes, it was odd, yet considering Dakota, she was not in the least disturbed. So far his conduct toward her had been that of the perfect gentleman, and in spite of the recklessness that gleamed in his eyes whenever he looked at her she was certain that he would continue to be a gentleman.

      It was restful to lie and listen to the rain splashing on the roof and against the window, but sleep, for some unaccountable reason, seemed to grow farther from her—the recollection of events during the past few hours left no room in her thoughts for sleep. Turning, after a while, to seek a more comfortable position, she saw Dakota sitting at the table, on the side opposite her, watching her intently.

      “Can’t sleep, eh?” he said, when he saw her looking at him. “Storm bother you?”

      “I think it was the thunder that awakened me,” she returned. “Thunder always does. Evidently it disturbs you too.”

      “I haven’t been asleep,” he said in a curt tone.

      He continued to watch her with a quiet, appraising gaze. It was evident that he had been thinking of her when she had turned to look at him. She flushed with embarrassment over the thought that while she had been asleep he must have been considering her, and yet, looking closely at him now, she decided that his expression was frankly impersonal.

      He glanced at his watch. “You’ve been asleep two hours,” he said. “I’ve been watching you—and envying you.”

      “Envying me? Why? Are you troubled with insomnia?”

      He laughed. “Nothing so serious as that. It’s just thoughts.”

      “Pleasant ones, of course.”

      “You might call them pleasant. I’ve been thinking of you.”

      Sheila found no reply to make to this, but blushed again.

      “Thinking of you,” repeated Dakota. “Of the chance you took in coming out here alone—in coming into my shack. We’re twenty miles from town here—twenty miles from the Double R—the nearest ranch. It isn’t likely that a soul will pass here for a month. Suppose——”

      “We won’t ‘suppose,’ if you please,” said Sheila. Her face had grown slowly pale, but there was a confident smile on her lips as she looked at him.

      “No?” he said, watching her steadily. “Why? Isn’t it quite possible that you could have fallen in with a sort of man——”

      “As it happens, I did not,” interrupted Sheila.

      “How do you know?”

      Sheila’s gaze met his unwaveringly. “Because you are the man,” she said slowly.

      She thought she saw a glint of pleasure in his eyes, but was not quite certain, for his expression changed instantly.

      “Fate, or Providence—or whatever you are pleased to call the power that shuffles us flesh and blood mannikins around—has a way of putting us all in the right places. I expect that’s one of the reasons why you didn’t fall in with the sort of man I was going to tell you about,” said Dakota.

      “I don’t see what Fate has to do—” began Sheila, wondering at his serious tone.

      “Odd, isn’t it?” he drawled.

      “What is odd?”

      “That you don’t see. But lots of people don’t see. They’re chucked and shoved around like men on a chess board, and though they’re always interested they don’t usually know what it’s all about. Just as well too—usually.”

      “I don’t see——”

      He smiled mysteriously. “Did I say that I expected you to see?” he said. “There isn’t anything personal in this, aside from the fact that I was trying to show you that some one was foolish in sending you out here alone. Some day you’ll look back on your visit here and then you’ll understand.”

      He got up and walked to the door, opening it and standing there looking out into the darkness. Sheila watched him, puzzled by his mysterious manner, though not in the least afraid of him. Several times while he stood at the door he turned and looked at her and presently, when a gust of wind rushed in and Sheila shivered, he abruptly closed the door, barred it, and strode to the fireplace, throwing a fresh log into it. For a time he stood silently in front of the fire, his figure casting a long, gaunt shadow at Sheila’s feet, his gaze on her, grim, somber lines in his face. Presently he cleared his throat.

      “How old are you?” he said shortly.

      “Twenty-two.”

      “And you’ve lived East all your life. Lived well, too, I suppose—plenty of money, luxuries, happiness?”

      He caught her nod and continued, his lips curling a little. “Your father too, I reckon—has

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