never quickened; and Bruin, after a long look and a vain attempt to push the door open, gave a growl and trotted off through the underbrush toward his own cosey cave under the rocky hillside near by. A young owlet, flying aimlessly through the night, flapped itself through an opening in the roof intended to let out the smoke; and finding it difficult to escape by the place where it had entered, settled itself comfortably near the sleeper, standing on one foot, and meditatively regarding the strange creature on the bed. To all these noises Graham was deaf; but when the clatter of a horse’s hoofs broke the silence, that strange half-consciousness which gives warning of an unaccustomed sound called his slumbering senses to awaken. In a moment he was perfectly conscious, and, after feeling for his pistol, lay quietly down again upon the hard couch. The rider might not pause at the shanty, and as he was in no mood for company, he would give no sign of his presence there until it was necessary. The hope was a vain one; he heard the rider call to his horse with an oath to stop. After a slight pause, the door, which he had secured with a wooden bar, was roughly shaken. The new-comer, finding the portal fast, now showed himself at the little window and peered into the room. Seeing a recumbent figure, he cried out,-- "Who the ---- is in this shanty?" "John Graham; and who is outside?" After a pause the voice answered,-- "A man as wants a night’s rest bad, and has got as good a right to it as anybody." "Put up your shooting-irons, Horton, and I will open the door." First striking a match and lighting his candle, Graham unfastened the bar, and the light door swung wide. The figure out in the darkness peered doubtfully into the room. "Don’t be afraid; I am alone," said the artist coolly, seating himself upon his bunk, and proceeding to fill his pipe. The man came cautiously into the cabin, looking about him once more to make sure that Graham had spoken the truth. He was a rough-looking fellow, with a sinister expression of countenance, in great part owing to the deep scar which seamed his face from temple to chin. The stranger seemed a good deal disconcerted at finding the artist ensconced in the lodge. "Did n’t expect to find anybody--least of all you--in this shanty." "I do not often occupy it; though I built it myself." "Is that so? You ain’t got a mouthful of bread as yer’d let a man have as has fasted since sunrise?" Graham’s answer was to hand him a couple of rounds of hard-tack, which he quickly devoured; and to pass his flask, filled with the rough, strong wine from the vineyards of Los Angeles. The fellow poured half its contents down his throat at one draught, wiping his mouth upon the sleeve of his rough jacket. Then, with a nod of acknowledgment, he handed back the flask with a regretful sigh, and seating himself on the floor by the fireplace, warmed his feet in the still hot ashes.