They reached it in another minute, and, staggering in, he sank into the nearest chair. A stove snapped and crackled in the middle of the little log-walled room, which in spite of its uncovered, split-boarded floor, seemed to possess a daintiness very unusual in the Bush. He did not, however, know what particular objects in it conveyed that impression, for the whole room seemed to be swinging up and down; but he was definitely conscious of a comforting smell of coffee and pork, which came from the stove. He sat still, shivering, and blinking at the girl, while the water trickled from his tattered clothing. He fancied from the patter on the shingle roof, that it was raining outside.
“I wonder if you would let me camp in the barn to-night,” he said.
The girl’s eyes had grown compassionate as she watched him, for there was a suggestive greyness in his face. It was evident to her that he was utterly worn-out.
“Go in there,” she said, pointing to a door. “You will find some dry clothes. Put them on.”
Nasmyth staggered into a very small room, which had a rude wooden bunk in it, and with considerable difficulty sloughed off his wet things and put on somebody else’s clothing. Then he came back and sank into a deer-hide lounge at the table. The girl set a cup of coffee, as well as some pork and potatoes, before him. He drank the coffee, but finding, somewhat to his astonishment, that he could scarcely eat, he lay back in his 19 chair and looked at the girl deprecatingly with half-closed eyes.
“Sorry I can’t do the supper justice. I think I’m ill,” he said.
Then his head fell back against the deer-hide lounge, and, while the girl watched him with a natural consternation, he sank into sleep or unconsciousness. She was not sure which it was, but he certainly looked very ill, and, being a capable young woman, she remembered that within the next hour, the weekly mail-carrier would strike a trail which passed within a mile of the ranch. Rising, she touched Nasmyth’s shoulder.
“Stay there, and don’t try to get up until I come back,” she commanded in a kindly tone.
Nasmyth, as she had half-expected, said nothing, and, slipping into another room––there were three in the house––she returned, wearing a jacket of coarse fur, and went quietly out into the rain. It was dark now, but she had, as it happened, not long to wait for the mail-carrier.
“I want you to call at Gordon’s ranch, Dave,” she told the man. “Tell him he is to come along as soon as he can. There’s a stranger here who seems very ill.”