The Trail to Yesterday. Seltzer Charles Alden

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СКАЧАТЬ right.” A gratified smile broke on the straight, hard lips. A new expression came into his eyes – admiration. “You’ve got nerve, ma’am. I’m some pleased that you’ve got that much trust in me. You don’t need to be scared. You’re as safe here as you’d be out there.” He nodded toward the open door. “Safer,” he added with a grave smile; “you might get hurt out there.”

      He turned abruptly and went to the door, where he stood for a long time looking out into the darkness. She watched him for a moment and then removed the tarpaulin and hung it from a nail in the wall of the cabin. Standing near the table she glanced about her. There was only one room in the cabin, but it was large – about twenty by twenty, she estimated. Beside an open fireplace in a corner 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 caught the accusation in her eyes and his face reddened.

      “Well,” he admitted, “I’ve done it before.”

      “Perhaps,” she said, a little doubtfully. “But I do not care to feel that I am driving you out into the storm. You might catch cold and die. And I should not want to think that I was responsible for your death.”

      “A little wetting wouldn’t hurt me.” He looked at her appraisingly, a glint of sympathy in his eyes. Standing there, framed in the darkness, the flickering light from the candle on his strong, grave face, he made a picture that, she felt, she would not soon forget.

      “I reckon you ain’t afraid to stay here alone, ma’am,” he said.

      “Yes,” she returned frankly, “I am afraid. I do not want to stay here alone.”

      A pistol flashed in his hand, its butt toward her, and now for the first time she saw another at his hip. She repressed a desire to shudder and stared with dilated eyes at the extended weapon.

      “Take this gun,” he offered. “It ain’t much for looks, but it’ll go right handy. You can bar the door, too, and the window.”

      She refused to take the weapon. “I wouldn’t know how to use it if I had occasion to. I prefer to have you remain in the cabin – for protection.”

      He bowed. “I thought you’d – ” he began, and then smiled wryly. “It certainly would be some wet outside,” he admitted. “It wouldn’t be pleasant sleeping. I’ll lay over here by the door when I get my blankets.”

      He went outside and in a few minutes reappeared with his blankets and saddle. Without speaking a word to Sheila he laid the saddle down, spread the blanket over it, and stretched himself out on his back.

      “I don’t know about the light,” he said after an interval of silence, during which Sheila sat on the edge of the bunk and regarded his profile appraisingly. “You can blow it out if you like.”

      “I prefer to have it burning.”

      “Suit yourself.”

      Sheila got up and placed the candle in a tin dish as a precaution against fire. Then, when its position satisfied her she left the table and went to the bunk, stretching herself out on it, fully dressed.

      For a long time she lay, listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof, looking upward at the drops that splashed against the window, listening to the fitful whining of the wind through the trees near the cabin. Her eyes closed presently, sleep was fast claiming her. Then she heard her host’s voice:

      “You’re from the East, I reckon.”

      “Yes.”

      “Where?”

      “New York.”

      “City?”

      “Albany.”

      There was a silence. Sheila was thoroughly awake again, and once more her gaze went to the window, where unceasing streams trickled down the glass. Whatever fear she had had of the owner of the cabin had long ago been dispelled by his manner which, though puzzling, hinted of the gentleman. She would have liked him better were it not for the reckless gleam in his eyes; that gleam, it seemed to her, indicated a trait of character which was not wholly admirable.

      “What have you come out here for?”

      Sheila smiled at the rain-spattered window, a flash of pleased vanity in her eyes. His voice had been low, but in it she detected much curiosity, even interest. It was not surprising, of course, that he should feel an interest in her; other men had been interested in her too, only they had not been men that lived in romantic wildernesses, – observe that she did not make use of the term “unfeatured,” which she had manufactured soon after realizing that she was lost – nor had they carried big revolvers, like this man, who seemed also to know very well how to use them.

      Those other men who had been interested in her had had a way of looking at her; there had always been a significant boldness in their eyes which belied the gentleness of demeanor which, she had always been sure, merely masked their real characters. She had never been able to look squarely at any of those men, the men of her circle who had danced attendance upon her at the social functions that had formerly СКАЧАТЬ