out the candle between a finger and a thumb and strode
to the door--Sheila could hear him fumbling at the fastenings. He spoke to
the man outside sharply.

"Come in!"

There was a movement; a square of light appeared in the wall of darkness;
there came a step on the threshold. Watching, Sheila saw, framed in the
open doorway, the dim outlines of a figure--a man.

"Stand right there," came Dakota's voice from somewhere in the
impenetrable darkness of the interior, and Sheila wondered at the
hospitality that greeted a stranger with total darkness and a revolver.
"Light a match."

After a short interval of silence there came the sound of a match
scratching on the wall, and a light flared up, showing Sheila the face of
a man of sixty, bronzed, bearded, with gentle, quizzical eyes.

The light died down, the man waited. Sheila had forgotten--in her desire
to see the face of the visitor--to look for Dakota, but presently she
heard his voice:

"I reckon you're a parson, all right. Close the door."

The parson obeyed the command. "Light the candle on the table!" came the
order from Dakota. "I'm not taking any chances until I get a better look
at you."

Another match flared up and the parson advanced to the table and lighted
the candle. He smiled while applying the match to the wick. "Don't pay to
take no chances--on anything," he agreed. He stood erect, a tall man,
rugged and active for his sixty years, and threw off a rain-soaked
tarpaulin. Some traces of dampness were visible on his clothing, but in
the circumstances he had not fared so badly.

"It's a new trail to me--I don't know the country," he went on. "If I
hadn't seen your light I reckon I'd have been goin' yet. I was thinkin'
that it was mighty queer that you'd have a light goin' so----" He stopped
short, seeing Sheila sitting on the bunk. "Shucks, ma'am," he apologized,
"I didn't know you were there." His hat came off and dangled in his left
hand; with the other he brushed back the hair from his forehead, smiling
meanwhile at Sheila.

"Why, ma'am," he said apologetically, "if your husband had told me you was
here I'd have gone right on an' not bothered you."

Sheila's gaze went from the parson's face and sought Dakota's, a crimson
flood spreading over her face and temples. A slow, amused gleam filled
Dakota's eyes. But plainly he did not intend to set the parson right--he
was enjoying Sheila's confusion. The color fled from her face as suddenly
as it ha