"Yes. Wanted to rest a while, and get out of the snow. When it stopped snowing she went on her way." The young man sighed, and pulled the blanket higher, as though to keep the firelight out of his eyes. "I would have thought it funny," he pursued in a dreamy, far-away tone—"a girl like that—alone—but as I told you I was so miserable, I didn't think—I didn't ask her anything about herself." The voice trailed off to a whisper, and speech momentarily failed.
"That's all you can tell me about her?"
"'S all."
"Where are you from yourself?" asked the officer.
"Montreal," was the sleepy reply.
"How long you been here?"
No answer came from the bunk.
Dexter stood up and crossed the room, to look down at the face on the pillow. The boy's eyes were shut, and his breathing was deep and regular, as though he had fallen into a doze. Perhaps he was shamming to avoid further questioning. Perhaps not. It was quite likely that he had not slept for nights, and was on the verge of complete exhaustion. Now—soothed by the hot bandages, relieved from his long protracted pain—he might easily drop off like this in the middle of a word.
Upon reflection the officer decided not to disturb him. Possibly he knew more than he was willing to tell about the mysterious girl. But he could go on with sweeping denials of ever having seen her before, and Dexter knew from experience how impossible it is to pin down a witness who persists in answering in general negatives. Besides, if the boy were really suffering from lack of sleep, it would be cruelty to force him to stay awake.
The policeman himself was beginning to feel the effect of long, jading hours. He sat for a while, musing over the fire, but after darkness had fallen it occurred to him that he might as well call it a day. A last reconnaissance out-of-doors convinced him that, for the time being at least, he and his chance-found cabin mate were the only mortal beings existent in that particular section of the forest. It was a breathless night, deathly silent. A bank of low-hanging clouds scudded over the tree tops, and the weighted air held the promise of snow. He went back into the cabin, discreetly barred the door and withdrew the latch cord, and then spread his blanket by the fireplace and rolled up for the night. In two minutes he was sunk in profoundest slumber.