Finally they reached a flat and he felt wet brush slapping at his legs as the horse, intent on the light himself, trotted forward.
Their destination was a cabin. The glow finally resolved itself into cracks of light showing between logs and through a tarpaulin which hung across the doorway.
Dick shouted. Movement inside; the curtain was drawn back and he rode blinking into the light, which he could see came from a fireplace. A woman stood outlined against the flare.
"Who's there?" she asked sharply, and Dick stopped his horse.
"My name is Hilton," he said, "but that won't do you much good. I'm a stranger and I'm off my way, I guess."
The other did not reply as he dismounted and walked toward her.
"Without a slicker," she said. "Come in."
The first thing he saw inside was movement: A cartridge belt, swinging from a nail. A rifle leaned handily against the door casing.
The girl who had held the curtain back for him to enter let it drop and turned to face him. Hilton drew his breath sharply. Blue-black hair, in a heavy, orderly mass atop a shapely, high-held head and falling down her straight trim back in one thick plait; brown eyes, ripe red lips, a delicate chin and a throat of exquisite proportions. His gaze traveled down her figure, the natural grace of which could not be concealed by the shirt and riding skirt she wore. She was wholly beautiful.
"Oh, I've seen you before," he said slowly. "You're the girl that demanded respect and got it in the Crossing the other day!"