There came a slow movement. In the lifting darkness Sheila saw the man return a pistol to the holster that swung at his right hip. He carelessly threw one leg over the pommel of his saddle and looked at her. She sat very rigid, debating a sudden impulse to urge her pony past him and escape the danger that seemed to threaten. While she watched he shoved the broad brimmed hat back from his forehead. He was not over five feet distant from her; she could feel her pony nuzzling his with an inquisitive muzzle, and she could dimly see the rider's face. It belonged to a man of probably twenty-eight or thirty; it had regular features, keen, level eyes and a firm mouth. There was a slight smile on his face and somehow the fear that had oppressed Sheila began to take flight. And while she sat awaiting the turn of events his voice again startled her: "I reckon you've stampeded off your range, ma'am?" A sigh of relief escaped Sheila. The voice was very gentle and friendly. "I don't think that I have stampeded--whatever that means," she returned, reassured now that the stranger gave promise of being none of the dire figures of her imagination; "I am lost merely. You see, I am looking for the Double R ranch." "Oh," he said inexpressively; "the Double R." There ensued a short silence and she could not see his face for he had bowed his head a little and the broad brimmed hat intervened. "Do you know where the Double R ranch is?" There was a slight impatience in her voice. "Sure," came his voice. "It's up the crick a ways." "How far?" "Twenty miles." "Oh!" This information was disheartening. Twenty miles! And the rain was coming steadily down; she could feel it soaking through her clothing. A bitter, unreasoning anger against nature, against the circumstances which had conspired to place her in this position; against the man for his apparent lack of interest in her welfare, moved her, though she might have left the man out of it, for certainly he could not be held responsible. Yet his nonchalance, his serenity--something about him--irritated her. Didn't he know she was getting wet? Why didn't he offer her shelter? It did not occur to her that perhaps he knew of no shelter. But while her indignation over his inaction grew she saw that he was doing something--fumbling at a bundle that seemed to be strapped to the cantle of his saddle. And then he leaned forward--very close to her--and she saw that he was offering her a tarpaulin. "Wrap yourself in this," he directed. "It ain't pretty, of course, but it'll keep you from getting drenched. Rain ain't no respecter of persons." She detected a compliment in this but ignored it and placed the tarpaulin around her shoulders. Then it suddenly occurred to her that he was without protection. She hesitated. "Thank you," she said, "but I can't take this. You haven't anything for yourself." A careless laugh reached her. "That's all right; I don't need anything."