that
the lamp might shed its beam farther on the way of the traveller who came
not. There was but one other light in the place, a bit of candle. Alida
apologized for the poor light by which they must eat, but she did not
offer to take the lamp from the window.

Peter was no longer Sir Knight of the Joyous Heart as he watched the
little, white-faced woman, who went so often to the door to look towards
the road that entered the valley that she was no longer aware of what she
did. He saw her wide eyes full of fear, the bow of the mouth strained taut
with anxiety, her unconscious fear of him as one of the alien faction, and
withal her concern for his comfort. Judith's control was far greater, but
though she hid it skilfully, he knew the sorrow that consumed her.

There was a cry from the room beyond, and Judith, snatching up the candle,
went in to the children. All three of them were sleeping cross-ways in one
bed, their small, round arms and legs striking out through the land of
dreams as swimmers breasting the waves. She gave a little cry of delight
and appreciation, and called Peter to look. Little Jim, who had cried in
some passing fear, sat up sleepily. He stretched out his small arms to
Peter, whom he had never seen before. Peter took him, and again he settled
to sleep, apparently assured that he was in friendly hands.

The warm, small body, giving itself with perfect confidence, strongly
affected Peter's heightened susceptibilities. In the very nature of the
situation he could be no friend to Jim Rodney, yet here in his arms lay
Jim Rodney's son, loving, trusting him instinctively. Judith noticed that
his face paled beneath its many coats of tan. He was afraid of the little
sleeping boy, afraid that his unaccustomed touch might hurt him, and yet
loath to part with the small burden. Judith took the boy from Peter and
placed him between the two little girls on the bed.

Through the window they could see Alida's dress glimmering, like a phantom
in the darkness, as she strained her eyes towards the path. Peter hated to
leave the women and children in this desolate place. The night was far
spent. To reach the round-up in season, he could at best snatch a couple
of hours' sleep and be again in the saddle while the stars still shone.
His saddle and saddle blanket were enough for him. The broad canopy of
heaven, the bosom of mother earth, had given him sound, dreamless sleep
these many years. He bade the women good-night,