"You want to cut out this story writing," he said
abruptly, when she paused to find the next page. "It's
bad enough to work like you do in the pictures. This
is going a little too strong; you're as jumpy to-night as
a
guiltyconscience. Cut it out."
"I'm all right. I'm just doing that for
dramaticeffect. This is very weird, Lite. I ought to have a
green shade on the lamp, to get the proper effect. I--
don't you think--er--those footsteps are terribly
mysterious?"
Lite looked at her
sharply for a minute. "I sure
do," he said drily. "Where did you get the idea,
Jean?"
"Out of my head," she told him airily, and went on
reading while Lite
studied her curiously.
That night Jean awoke and heard stealthy footsteps,
like a man walking in his socks and no boots, going all
through the house but never coming to her room. She
did not get up to see who it was, but lay
perfectly still
and heard her heart thump. When she saw a dim, yellow
ray of light under the door which opened into the
kitchen, she drew the blanket over her head, and got
no comfort
whatever from the feel of her six-shooter
close against her hand.
The next morning she told herself that she had given
in to a fine case of nerves, and that the
mysteriousfootsteps of her story had become mixed up with the
midnight
wanderings of a pack-rat that had somehow gotten
into the house. Then she remembered the bar of light
under the door, and the pack-rat theory was spoiled.
She had taken the board off the
doorway into the
kitchen, so that she could use the cookstove. The man
could have come in if he had wanted to, and that knowledge
she found
extremely disquieting. She went all
through the house that morning, looking and wondering.
The living-room was now the dressing-room of Muriel
and her mother, and the
make-up scattered over the
centertable was
undisturbed; the
wardrobe of the two
women had
apparently been left
untouched. Yet she
was sure that some one had been prowling in there in the
night. She gave up the
puzzle at last and went back to
her breakfast, but before the company arrived in the big,
black automobile, she had found a stout hasp and two
staples, and had fixed the door which led from her room
into the kitchen so that she could
fasten it
securely on
the inside.
Jean did not tell Lite about the footsteps. She was
afraid that he might insist upon her giving up staying
at the Lazy A. Lite did not
approve of it, anyway, and
it would take very little
encouragement in the way of
extra risk to make him
stubborn about it. Lite could
be very
obstinate indeed upon occasion, and she was
afraid he might take a
stubbornstreak about this, and
perhaps ride over every night to make sure she was all
right, or do something
equally unnecessary and foolish.
She did not know Lite as well as she imagined, which
is frequently the case with the closest of friends. As
a matter of fact, Jean had never spent one night alone
on the ranch, even though she did believe she was doing
so. Lite had a
homestead a few miles away, upon
which he was
supposed to be
sleepingoccasionally to
prove his good faith in the settlement. Instead of spending
his nights there, however, he rode over and slept in
the gable loft over the old granary, where no one ever
went; and he left every morning just before the sky
lightened with dawn. He did not know that Jean was
frightened by the sound of footsteps, but he had heard
the man ride up to the
stable and
dismount, and he
had followed him to the house and watched him through
the uncurtained windows, and had kept his fingers close
to his gun all the while. Jean did not dream of anything
like that; but Lite, going about his work with the
easy calm that marked his manner always, was quite as