"Oh, can I now? Well, I'll do nothing of the kind to the first real friend I've ever had. As I said, I am all in, and I'm going to snooze while you watch for a gasoliner to come along." She stretched herself out and closed her eyes. In a semi-slumber she was dreamily conscious of a firm roll slipped deftly under her head. She made a faint murmur of content and acknowledgment and knew no more. Her sleeping sense didn't tell her that a tall sheriff came and looked down upon her small, pale, moonlit face from which sleep, the great eliminator, had robbed of everything earthy and left it the face of an innocent, sleeping child. She didn't dream that as he gazed he remitted sentence and told himself that she was but a stray little kitten lost in the wide plains of life, and solely in need of patient guidance to a home hearth. "She was right," he confessed. "I did make her feel contrary. It seems to be a characteristic of mine. Maybe her true little self is the one Jo saw and she can be made worthy of him yet." CHAPTER III When the first faint edges of light outlined the coming day, she sat bolt upright and stared about her. As far as eye could see was the tortuous trail leading up sculptured hills that were the preface to the mother mountains of the West. The wonder-stare in her eyes gradually disappeared as memory awakened. Down beyond the trees in a little valley the sheriff was attending to a fire he had built. She arose, cramped and unrefreshed, and hastened toward the welcome blaze. "Good morning. Any gasoline yet?" "No; not an automobile passed during the night." "How do you know? Didn't you sleep?" "No." "Guarding your car and me? No!" she added quickly. "That wasn't the reason. I had all the robes and your coat. You had to stay awake to keep warm." He smiled slightly and spoke in the hushed voice that seems in keeping with the dawn. "I've been used to night watches--tending sheep and cattle on the plains. What's the difference whether it's night or day so long as you sleep somewhere in the twenty-four hour zone?" "I never was up ahead of the sun before," she said with a little shiver, as she came close to the fire. "I am heating over the coffee that was left. That will make you feel better." "I suppose there isn't any water hereabouts to wash in. You know they teach us to be sanitary in the reformatories." He pointed to a jar. "I always carry some in the car. Help yourself." "Arctic ablutions never appeal to me," she said when she had used the cold water freely and returned to the fire. "I found another left-over in the shape of a sandwich minus the pork, so we can each have a slice of toast with our coffee." She put a piece of bread on a forked stick and held it out to the blaze. He did the same with the other half of the sandwich. Then they partook of a meagre but welcome breakfast. "Look!" he said presently in an awed voice. The sun was sending a glorious searchlight of gold over the highest hill-line.