id the girl decidedly.
"You can't keep going like that. It'll kill you. You lie down, and I'll
watch, and get dinner. I'm going to cook that bird."

He demurred, but in the end she had her way; for he was exceedingly weary,
and she saw it. So he let her spread the old coat down for him while he
gathered some wood for a fire, and then he lay down and watched her simple
preparations for the meal. Before he knew it he was asleep.

When he came to himself, there was a curious blending of dream and
reality. He thought his lady was coming to him across the rough plains in
an automobile, with gray wings like those of the bird the girl had shot,
and his prayer as he knelt in the sand was drawing her, while overhead the
air was full of a wild, sweet music from strange birds that mocked and
called and trilled. But, when the automobile reached him and stopped, the
lady withered into a little, old, dried-up creature of ashes; and the girl
of the plains was sitting in her place radiant and beautiful.

He opened his eyes, and saw the rude little dinner set, and smelt the
delicious odor of the roasted bird. The girl was standing on the other
side of the fire, gravely whistling a most extraordinary song, like unto
all the birds of the air at once.

She had made a little cake out of the corn-meal, and they feasted royally.

"I caught two fishes in the brook. We'll take them along for supper," she
said as they packed the things again for starting. He tried to get her to
take a rest also, and let him watch; but she insisted that they must go
on, and promised to rest just before dark. "For we must travel hard at
night, you know," she added fearfully.

He questioned her more about the man who might be pursuing, and came to
understand her fears.

"The scoundrel!" he muttered, looking at the delicate features and clear,
lovely profile of the girl. He felt a strong desire to throttle the evil
man.

He asked a good many questions about her life, and was filled with wonder
over the flower-like girl who seemed to have blossomed in the wilderness
with no hand to cultivate her save a lazy, clever, drunken father, and a
kind but ignorant mother. How could she have escaped being coarsened amid
such surroundings. How was it, with such brothers as she had, that she had
come forth as lovely and unhurt as she seemed? He somehow began to feel a
great anxiety for her lonely future and a desire to put her in the way of
protection. But at present the