"It's me, Stanley."
She bade him enter; and he came in to find her lying on her cot beneath a mosquito bar, a lantern burning on a box beside her.
"Well," she said peevishly, "it's a wonder any one came. I might lie here and die for all any one cares."
"I'd have come sooner, but I thought of course Orman was here."
"He's probably in his tent soused."
"Yes, he is. When I found that out I came right over."
"I shouldn't think you'd be afraid of him. I shouldn't think you'd be afraid of anything." She gazed admiringly on his splendid physique, his handsome face.
"Me afraid of that big stiff!" he scoffed. "I'm not afraid of anything, but you said yourself that we ought not to let Orman know about—about you and me."
"No," she acquiesced thoughtfully, "that wouldn't be so good. He's got a nasty temper, and there's lots of things a director can do if he gets sore."
"In a picture like this he could get a guy killed and make it look like an accident," said Obroski.