"But hadn't you better take the bed and let me sleep over here?"

"Not much!"

"You're sure you would be more comfortable by the fire--sure, now?"

"Yes, you bet!"

And so it was that Johnson decided to pa.s.s the night in the Girl's canopied bed while she herself, rolled up in a blanket rug before the fire, slept on the floor.

"This beats a bed any time," remarked the Girl, spreading out the rug smoothly; and then, reaching up for the old patchwork, silk quilt that hung from the loft, she added: "There's one thing--you don't have to make it up in the mornin'."

"You're splendid, Girl!" laughed Johnson. Presently, he saw her quietly closet herself in the cupboard, only to emerge a few minutes later dressed for the night. Over her white cambric gown with its coa.r.s.e lace tr.i.m.m.i.n.g showing at the throat, she wore a red woollen blanket robe held in at the waist by a heavy, twisted, red cord which, to the man who got a glimpse of her as she crossed the room, made her prettier, even, than she had seemed at any time yet.

Quietly, now, the Girl began to put her house in order. All the lights, save the quaintly-shaded lamp that was suspended over the table, were extinguished; that one, after many unsuccessful attempts, was turned down so as to give the right minimum of light which would not interfere with her lover's sleep. Then she went over to the door to make sure that it was bolted. Outside the wind howled and shrieked and moaned; but inside the cabin it had never seemed more cosey and secure and peaceful to her.

"Now you can talk to me from your bunk an' I'll talk to you from mine,"

she said in a sleepy, lazy voice.

Except for a prodigious yawn which came from the Girl there was an ominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled the man. Sudden sounds startled him, and he found it impossible to make any progress with his preparations for the night. He was about to make some remark, however, when to his well-attuned ears there came the sound of approaching footsteps. In an instant he was standing in the parting made by the curtains, his face eager, animated, tense.

"What's that?" he whispered.

"That's snow slidin'," the Girl informed him without the slightest trace of anxiety in her voice.

"G.o.d bless you, Girl," he murmured, and retreated back of the curtains.

It was only an instant before he was back again with: "Why, there is something out there--sounded like people calling," he again whispered.

"That's only the wind," she said, adding as she drew her robe tightly about her: "Gettin' cold, ain't it?"

But, notwithstanding her a.s.surances, Johnson did not feel secure, and it was with many misgivings that he now directed his footsteps towards the bed behind the curtains.

"Good-night!" he said uneasily.

"Good-night!" unconsciously returned the Girl in the same tone.

Taking off her slippers the Girl now put on a pair of moccasins and quietly went over to her bed, where she knelt down and made a silent prayer.

"Good-night!" presently came from a little voice in the rug.

"Good-night!" answered the man now settled in the centre of the much-befrilled bed.

There was a silence; then the little voice in the rug called out:

"Say, what's your name?"

"d.i.c.k," whispered the man behind the curtains.

"So long, d.i.c.k!" drowsily.

"So long, Girl!" dreamily.

There was a brief silence; then, of a sudden, the Girl bolted upright in bed, and asked:

"Say, d.i.c.k, are you sure you don't know that Nina Micheltorena?"

"Sure," prevaricated the man, not without some compunction.

Whereupon the Girl fell back on her pillows and called out contentedly a final "Good-night!"

XIII.

There was no mistaking then--no need to contrast her feeling of anxiety of a few moments ago lest some other woman had preceded her in his affections, with her indifference on former occasions when her admirers had proved faithless, to make the Girl realise that she was experiencing love and was dominated by a pa.s.sion for this man.

So that, with no reason whatever in her mind to question the sincerity of Johnson's love for her, it would seem as if nothing were wanting to make the Girl perfectly happy; that there could be no room in her heart for any feeling other than elation. And yet, curiously enough, the Girl could not doze off to sleep. Some mysterious force--a vague foreboding of something about to happen--impelled her to open her eyes again and again.

It was an odd and wholly new sensation, this conjuring up of distressing spectres, for no girl was given less to that sort of thing; all the same, it was with difficulty that she checked an impulse to cry out to her lover--whom she believed to be asleep--and make him dissipate, by renewed a.s.surances, the mysterious barrier which she felt was hemming her in.

As for Johnson, the moment that his head had touched the pillows, he fell to thinking of the awkward situation in which he was placed, the many complications in which his heart had involved him and, finally, he found himself wondering whether the woman whom he loved so dearly was also lying sleepless in her rug on the floor.

And so it was not surprising that he should spring up the moment that he heard cries from outside.

"Who's that knockin', I wonder?"

Although her voice showed no signs of distress or annoyance, the question coming from her in a calm tone, the Girl was upon her feet almost before she knew it. In a trice she removed all evidences that she had been lying upon the floor, flinging the pillows and silk coverlet to the wardrobe top.

In that same moment Johnson was standing in the parting of the curtains, his hand raised warningly. In another moment he was over to the door where, after taking his pistols from his overcoat pockets, he stood in a cool, determined att.i.tude, fingering his weapons.

"But some one's ben callin'," the Girl was saying, at the very moment when above the loud roaring of the wind another knock was heard on the cabin door. "Who can it be?" she asked as if to herself, and calmly went over to the table, where she took up the candle and lit it.

Springing to her side, Johnson whispered tensely:

"Don't answer--you can't let anyone in--they wouldn't understand."

The Girl eyed him quizzically.

"Understand what?" And before he had time to explain, much less to check her, she was standing at the window, candle in hand, peering out into the night.

"Why, it's the posse!" she cried, wheeling round suddenly. "How did they ever risk it in this storm?"

At these words a crushed expression appeared on Johnson's countenance; an uncanny sense of insecurity seized him. Once more the loud, insistent pounding was repeated, and as before, the outlaw, his hands on his guns, commanded her not to answer.

"But what on earth do the boys want?" inquired the Girl, seemingly oblivious to what he was saying. Indeed, so much so that as the voice of Nick rose high above the other sounds of the night, calling, "Min-Minnie-Girl, let us in!" she hurriedly brushed past him and yelled through the door:

"What do you want?"