sting
a backward glance at the diminishing figure of her husband in the
distance, she threw open the door and shut it quickly behind her.
At first the abrupt change from the dazzling outer plain to the deep
shadows of the barn bewildered her. She saw before her a bucket half
filled with dirty water, and a quantity of wet straw littering the
floor; then lifting her eyes to the hay-loft, she detected the figure of
the fugitive, unclothed from the waist upward, emerging from the loose
hay in which he had evidently been drying himself. Whether it was the
excitement of his perilous situation, or whether the perfect symmetry
of his bared bust and arms--unlike anything she had ever seen
before--clothed him with the cold ideality of a statue, she could not
say, but she felt no shock of modesty; while the man, accustomed to
the public half-exposure in tights and spangles, was more conscious of
detected unreadiness than of shame.

"Gettin' the dust off me," he said, in hurried explanation; "be down
in a second." Indeed, in another moment he had resumed his shirt and
flannel coat, and swung himself to the floor with a like grace and
dexterity, that was to her the revelation of a descending god. She found
herself face to face with him,--his features cleansed of dirt and grime,
his hair plastered in wet curls on his low forehead. It was a face
of cheap adornment, not uncommon in his profession--unintelligent,
unrefined, and even unheroic; but she did not know that. Overcoming a
sudden timidity, she nevertheless told him briefly and concisely of the
arrival and departure of his pursuers.

His low forehead wrinkled. "Thar's no getting away until they come
back," he said without looking at her. "Could ye keep me in here
to-night?"

"Yes," she returned simply, as if the idea had already occurred to her;
"but you must lie low in the loft."

"And could you"--he hesitated, and went on with a forced smile--"you
see, I've eaten nothing since last night. Could you"--

"I'll bring you something," she said quickly, nodding her head.

"And if you had"--he went on more hesitatingly, glancing down at his
travel-torn and frayed garments--"anything like a coat, or any other
clothing? It would disguise me also, you see, and put 'em off the
track."

She nodded her head again rapidly: she had thought of that too; there
was a pair of doeskin trousers and a velvet jacket left by a Mexican
vaquero who had bought stock from them two years ago. Pra