The pretty woman was sitting on the edge of the built-in bunk, staring at him. There was some one in the bunk, who moved restlessly and coughed dryly.
“What do you want here?” asked the woman hoarsely.
“Me?”
Roper Bates wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He did not know what to say just then. From overhead came a crashing snap of thunder, and the woman seemed to crouch lower on the bunk. Successive flashes of lightning made the room bright with a white glare.
Roper moved in a little closer and stared at the man in the bunk. He could see the man’s face now; it was very pale.
“What’sa matter—sick?” asked Roper thickly.
The woman nodded dumbly, and turned to put her hand on the sick man’s forehead. She turned back and repeated her question—
“What do you want here?”
“I—dunno.”
Roper Bates really did not know. Somehow he seemed to forget just why he had come there.