fringe of red beard
and with blue eyes set high above prominent cheek bones. He threw his
spur on the other things, and looking up met Susan's eyes staring at
him across the fire.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To California."

"So am I."

She made no answer.

"Were you asleep when I came?"

"No, I was thinking."

A sound of anguish came from the tent, and Susan set her teeth on her
underlip stiffening. He looked in its direction, then back at her.

"What's the matter there?" he asked.

"A child is being born."

He made no comment, swept the background of tents and wagon roofs with
an investigating eye that finally came to a stop on the sleeping
children.

"Are these yours?"

"No, they belong to the woman who is sick."

His glance left them as if uninterested, and he leaned backward to pull
his blanket out more fully. His body, in the sleekly pliant buckskins,
was lean and supple. As he twisted, stretching an arm to draw out the
crumpled folds, the lines of his long back and powerful shoulders
showed the sinuous grace of a cat. He relaxed into easeful full
length, propped on an elbow, his red hair coiling against his neck.
Susan stole a stealthy glance at him. As if she had spoken, he
instantly raised his head and looked into her eyes.

His were clear and light with a singularly penetrating gaze, not bold
but intent, eyes not used to the detailed observation of the peopled
ways, but trained to unimpeded distances and to search the faces of
primitive men. They held hers, seeming to pierce the acquired veneer
of reserve to the guarded places beneath. She felt a slow stir of
antagonism, a defensive gathering of her spirit as against an intruder.
Her pride and self-sufficiency responded, answering to a hurried
summons. She was conscious of a withdrawal, a closing of doors, a
shutting down of her defenses in face of aggression and menace. And
while she rallied to this sudden call-to-arms the strange man held her
glance across the fire. It was she who spoke slowly in a low voice:

"Where do you come from?"

"From Taos, and after that Bent's Fort."

"What is your name?"

"Low Courant."

Then with an effort she turned away and bent over the children. When
she looked back at him he was rolled in his blanket, and with his face
to the fire was asleep.

Lucy came presently for the hot water with a bulletin of progress
growing each moment more direful. Her eyes fell on the sleeping man