CHAPTER II
THE DIM TRAIL
Sheila had been dreaming of a world in which there was nothing but rainand mud and clouds and reckless-eyed individuals who conversed inirritating drawls when a sharp crash of thunder awakened her. During hersleep she had turned her face to the wall, and when her eyes opened thefirst thing that her gaze rested on was the small window above her head.She regarded it for some time, following with her eyes the erratic streamsthat trickled down the glass, stretching out wearily, listening to thewind. It was cold and bleak outside and she had much to be thankful for.
She was glad that she had not allowed the mysterious inhabitant of thecabin to sleep out in his tarpaulin, for the howling of the wind broughtweird thoughts into her mind; she reflected upon her helplessness and itwas extremely satisfying to know that within ten feet of her lay a manwhose two big revolvers--even though she feared them--seemed to insureprotection. It was odd, she told herself, that she should place so muchconfidence in Dakota, and her presence in the cabin with him was certainlya breach of propriety which--were her friends in the East to hear ofit--would arouse much comment--entirely unfavorable to her. Yes, it wasodd, yet considering Dakota, she was not in the least disturbed. So farhis conduct toward her had been that of the perfect gentleman, and inspite of the recklessness that gleamed in his eyes whenever he looked ather she was certain that he would continue to be a gentleman.
It was restful to lie and listen to the rain splashing on the roof andagainst the window, but sleep, for some unaccountable reason, seemed togrow farther from her--the recollection of events during the past fewhours left no room in her thoughts for sleep. Turning, after a while, toseek a more comfortable position, she saw Dakota sitting at the table, onthe side opposite her, watching her intently.
"Can't sleep, eh?" he said, when he saw her looking at him. "Storm botheryou?"
"I think it was the thunder that awakened me," she returned. "Thunderalways does. Evidently it disturbs you too."
"I haven't been asleep," he said in a curt tone.
He continued to watch her with a quiet, appraising gaze. It was evidentthat he had been thinking of her when she had turned to look at him. Sheflushed with embarrassment over the thought that while she had been asleephe must have been considering her, and yet, looking closely at him now,she decided that his expression was frankly impersonal.
He glanced at his watch. "You've been asleep two hours," he said. "I'vebeen watching you--and envying you."
"Envying me? Why? Are you troubled with insomnia?"
He laughed. "Nothing so serious as that. It's just thoughts."
"Pleasant ones, of course."
"You might call them pleasant. I've been thinking of you."
Sheila found no reply to make to this, but blushed again.
"Thinking of you," repeated Dakota. "Of the chance you took in coming outhere alone--in coming into my shack. We're twenty miles from townhere--twenty miles from the Double R--the nearest ranch. It isn't likelythat a soul will pass here for a month. Suppose----"
"We won't 'suppose,' if you please," said Sheila. Her face had grownslowly pale, but there was a confident smile on her lips as she looked athim.
"No?" he said, watching her steadily. "Why? Isn't it quite possible thatyou could have fallen in with a sort of man----"
"As it happens, I did not," interrupted Sheila.
"How do you know?"
Sheila's gaze met his unwaveringly. "Because you are the man," she saidslowly.
She thought she saw a glint of pleasure in his eyes, but was not quitecertain, for his expression changed instantly.
"Fate, or Providence--or whatever you are pleased to call the power thatshuffles us flesh and blood mannikins around--has a way of putting us allin the right places. I expect that's one of the reasons why you didn'tfall in with the sort of man I was going to tell you about," said Dakota.
"I don't see what Fate has to do--" began Sheila, wondering at his serioustone.
"Odd, isn't it?" he drawled.
"What is odd?"
"That you don't see. But lots of people don't see. They're chucked andshoved around like men on a chess board, and though they're alwaysinterested they don't usually know what it's all about. Just as welltoo--usually."
"I don't see----"
He smiled mysteriously. "Did I say that I expected you to see?" he said."There isn't anything personal in this, aside from the fact that I wastrying to show you that some one was foolish in sending you out herealone. Some day you'll look back on your visit here and then you'llunderstand."
He got up and walked to the door, opening it and standing there lookingout into the darkness. Sheila watched him, puzzled by his mysteriousmanner, though not in the least afraid of him. Several times while hestood at the door he turned and looked at her and presently, when a gustof wind rushed in and Sheila shivered, he abruptly closed the door, barredit, and strode to the fireplace, throwing a fresh log into it. For a timehe stood silently in front of the fire, his figure casting a long, gauntshadow at Sheila's feet, his gaze on her, grim, somber lines in his face.Presently he cleared his throat.
"How old are you?" he said shortly.
"Twenty-two."
"And you've lived East all your life. Lived well, too, I suppose--plentyof money, luxuries, happiness?"
He caught her nod and continued, his lips curling a little. "Your fathertoo, I reckon--has he been happy?"
"I think so."
"That's odd." He had spoken more to himself than to Sheila and he lookedat her with narrowed eyes when she answered.
"What is odd? That my father should be happy--that I should?"
"Odd that anyone who is happy in one place should want to leave that placeand go to another. Maybe the place he went to wouldn't be just right forhim. What makes people want to move around like that?"
"Perhaps you could answer that yourself," suggested Sheila. "I am surethat you haven't lived here in this part of the country all your life."
"How do you know that?" His gaze was quizzical and mocking.
"I don't know. But you haven't."
"Well," he said, "we'll say I haven't. But I wasn't happy where I camefrom and I came here looking for happiness--and something else. That Ididn't find what I was looking for isn't the question--mostly none of usfind the things we're looking for. But if I had been happy where I was Iwouldn't have come here. You say your father has been happy there; thathe's got plenty of money and all that. Then why should he want to livehere?"
"I believe I told you that he is coming here for his health."
His eyes lighted savagely. But Sheila did not catch their expression forat that moment she was looking at his shadow on the floor. How long, howgrotesque, it seemed, and forbidding--like its owner.
"So he's got everything he wants but his health. What made him losethat?"
"How should I know?"
"Just lost it, I reckon," said Dakota subtly. "Cares and Worry?"
"I presume. His health has been failing for about ten years."
Sheila was looking straight at Dakota now and she saw his face whiten, hislips harden. And when he spoke again there was a chill in his voice and adistinct pause between his words.
"Ten years," he said. "That's a long time, isn't it? A long time for a manwho has been losing his health. And yet----" There was a mirthless smileon Dakota's face--"ten years is a longer time for a man in good health whohasn't been happy. Couldn't your father have doctored--gone abroad--torecover his health? Or was his a mental sickness?"
"Mental, I think. He worried quite a little."
Dakota turned from her, but not quickly enough to conceal the light ofsavage joy that flashed suddenly into his eyes.
"Why!" exclaimed Sheila, voicing her surprise at the startling change inhis manner; "that seems to please you!"
"It does." He laughed oddly. "It pleases me to find that I'm to have aneighbor who is afflicted with the sort of sickness that has beenbothering me for--for a good many years.
"
There was a silence, during which Sheila yawned and Dakota stoodmotionless, looking straight ahead.
"You like your father, I reckon?" came his voice presently, as his gazewent to her again.
"Of course." She looked up at him in surprise. "Why shouldn't I likehim?"
"Of course you like him. Mostly children like their fathers."
"Children!" She glared scornfully at him. "I am twenty-two! I told youthat before!"
"So you did," he returned, unruffled. "When is he coming out here?"
"In a month--a month from to-day." She regarded him with a sudden, newinterest. "You are betraying a great deal of curiosity," she accused."Why?"
"Why," he answered slowly, "I reckon that isn't odd, is it? He's going tobe my neighbor, isn't he?"
"Oh!" she said with emphasis of mockery which equalled his. "And you aregossiping about your neighbor even before he comes."
"Like a woman," he said with a smile.
"An impertinent one," she retorted.
"Your father," he said in accents of sarcasm, ignoring the jibe, "seems tothink a heap of you--sending you all the way out here alone."
"I came against his wish; he wanted me to wait and come with him."
Her defense of her parent seemed to amuse him. He smiled mysteriously."Then he likes you?"
"Is that strange? He hasn't any one else--no relative. I am the onlyone."
"You're the only one." He repeated her words slowly, regarding hernarrowly. "And he likes you. I reckon he'd be hurt quite a little if youhad fallen in with the sort of man I was going to tell you about."
"Naturally." Sheila was tapping with her booted foot on his shadow on thefloor and did not look at him.
"It's a curious thing," he said slowly, after an interval, "that a man whohas got a treasure grows careless of it in time. It's natural, too. But Ireckon fate has something to do with it. Ten chances to one if nothinghappens to you your father will consider himself lucky. But suppose youhad happened to fall in with a different man than me--we'll say, forinstance, a man who had a grudge against your father--and that man didn'thave that uncommon quality called 'mercy.' What then? Ten chances to oneyour father would say it was fate that had led you to him."
"I think," she said scornfully, "that you are talking silly! In the firstplace, I don't believe my father thinks that I am a treasure, though helikes me very much. In the second place, if he does think that I am atreasure, he is very much mistaken, for I am not--I am a woman and quiteable to take care of myself. You have exhibited a wonderful curiosity overmy father and me, and though it has all been mystifying and entertaining,I don't purpose to talk to you all night."
"I didn't waken you," he mocked.
Sheila swung around on the bunk, her back to him. "You are keeping meawake," she retorted.
"Well, good night then," he laughed, "Miss Sheila."
"Good night, Mr.--Mr. Dakota," she returned.
Sheila did not hear him again. Her thoughts dwelt for a little time on himand his mysterious manner, then they strayed. They returned presently andshe concentrated her attention on the rain; she could hear the soft,steady patter of it on the roof; she listened to it trickling from theeaves and striking the glass in the window above her head. Gradually thesoft patter seemed to draw farther away, became faint, and more faint, andfinally she heard it no more.