working, and yet knew not what her answer would be when the
question came which lay behind it all. At moments she felt the
wonderful attraction of the man, and still there was some distrust
of him which she could not fathom. Again her thoughts reverted to
Glenister, the impetuous, and she compared the two, so similar in
some ways, so utterly opposed in others.

It was when she heard the night shift at their meal that she threw
a silken shawl about her head, stepped into the cool night, and
picked her way down towards the roar of the creek. "A breath of
air and then to bed," she thought. She saw the tall figure of the
watchman and made for him. He seemed oddly interested in her
approach, watching her very closely, almost as though alarmed. It
was doubtless because there were so few women out here, or
possibly on account of the lateness of the hour. Away with
conventions! This was the land of instinct and impulse. She would
talk to him. The man drew his hat more closely about his face and
moved off as she came up. Glenister had been in her thoughts a
moment since, and she now noted that here was another with the
same great, square shoulders and erect head. Then she saw with a
start that this one was a negro. He carried a Winchester and
seemed to watch her carefully, yet with indecision.

To express her interest and to break the silence, she questioned
him, but at the sound of her voice he stepped towards her and
spoke roughly.

"What!"

Then he paused, and stammered in a strangely altered and unnatural