Page:Caroline Lockhart--The Fighting Shepherdess.djvu/27

THE SAND COULEE ROADHOUSE He turned often between the blankets of his hard bed, disturbed by uneasy dreams quite unlike the deep oblivion of his usual sleep.

"Oh, Mister, where are you?"

The sheepherder stirred uneasily.

" Please — please, Mister, won't you speak? "

The plaintive pleading cry was tremulous and faint like the voice of a disembodied spirit floating somewhere in the air. This time he sat up with a start.

" It's only me — Katie Prentice, from the Roadhouse. Don't be scart."

The wail was closer. There was no mistake. Then the dog barked. The man threw back the blanket and ^rang to his feet. It took only a moment to get into his clothes and step out into a night that had turned pitch dark.

" Where are you? " he called.

" Oh, Mister! " The shrill cry held gladness and re-lief.

Then she came out of the blackness, the ends of a white nubia and a little shoulder cape snapping in the wind, her breath coming short in a sound that was a mixture of ex-haustion and sobs.

" I was afraid I couldn't find you till daylight. I heard a bell, but I didn't know where to go, it's such a dark night. I ran all the way, nearly, till I played out."


 * What's the row ? " he asked gently.

She slipped both arms through one of his and hugged It convulsively, while in a kind of hysteria she begged:

" Don't send me back, Mister I I won't go I I'll kill myself first. Take me with you — please, please let me go with you ! "

" Tell me what it's all about."

II