"Dutch Cal's place. It's only a few rods back in." "I saw a light from there and that suggested to my muddled brain that I might get something to eat." "So you came over here." "Yes. But the fear came on me again and I didn't dare knock. I suppose I prowled." "Gardner thought he heard ghosts. But ghosts don't steal molasses pie." She looked at him solemnly. "Must one steal to get anything to eat here?" "I'm sorry," he cried. "I'll get you breakfast right away. What will you have? There isn't much." "Anything there is. But if I'm to board with you, you must let me pay my way." "The company is responsible for that." Her brooding eyes were still fixed upon him. "You actually are the agent," she mused. "That's quaint." "I don't see anything quaint about it. Now, if you'll make yourself comfortable I'll go over to the shack and rustle something for breakfast." "No; I'd rather go with you. Perhaps I can help." Such help as the guest afforded was negligible. When, from sundry of the Sears-Roebuck cans and bottles, a condensed and preserved sort of meal had been derived, she set to it with a good grace. "There's more of a kick in tea than in a cocktail, I believe, when you really need it," she remarked gratefully. "You spoke of a Mr. Gardner. Who is he?" "A reporter who spent night before last here." She dropped her cracker, oleomargarine-side down. "A reporter?" "He came down to write up the wreck. It's a bad one. Nine dead, so far." "Is he still here?" "No. Gone back to Angelica City." Retrieving her cracker, the guest finished her meal, heartily but thoughtfully. She insisted on lending a hand to the washing-up process, and complimented Banneker on his neatness. "You haven't told me your name yet," he reminded her when the last shining tin was hung up. "No; I haven't. What will you do with it when you get it?" "Report it to the company for their lists." "Suppose I don't want it reported to the company?' "Why on earth shouldn't you?" "I may have my reasons. Would it be put in the papers?" "Very likely." "I don't _want_ it in the papers," said the girl with decision. "Don't you want it known that you're all right? Your people--" "I'll wire my people. Or you can wire them for me. Can't you?" "Of course. But the company has a right to know what has happened to its passengers." "Not to me! What has the company done for me but wreck me and give me an awful bang on the head and lose my baggage and--Oh, I nearly forgot. I took my traveling-bag when I ran. It's in the hut. I wonder if you would get it for me?" "Of course. I'll go now." "That's good of you. And for your own self, but not your old company, I'll tell you my name. I'm--" "Wait a moment. Whatever you tell me I'll have to report." "You can't," she returned imperiously. "It's in confidence." "I won't accept it so."