"No! No! He's subject to these attacks. Did--did Ernest mind his being cross?" In the candlelight Charley looked anxiously into Roger's face.
"Not a bit. He just wondered about it because the change came on so suddenly. What is it? His stomach?"
"Yes, his stomach," replied Charley.
"Sure you don't want me to go for the doctor?"
Charley's voice trembled a little. "Very sure! But you can hang up the harness for me while I hold the light." Then, as Roger obeyed with alacrity, she asked: "What made you come up this hour of the night?"
"I couldn't sleep. Then I began to think about your brother's grouch. I got up and took a look in this direction and saw the light. I don't know just why I came. Restless, I guess!"
He tossed the lines over a peg and came back to take the lantern from Charley. As the light flashed on her face he saw that she looked very tired and that her lip was quivering. A wordless surprise swept over Roger. The feeling he had had that Charley was like an interesting boy whom he would wish to keep for a friend was rudely shocked by that quivering lip. Only a girl's lip could tremble so.
"Something is wrong," he said, anxiously. "Let me help you."
"You have helped me, more than you can know. Go home to bed now or you won't be fit for work to-morrow. And that work is just about the most important thing in this valley."
Roger could think of no adequate reply. He lowered the bars for Charley and put them up again. The two stood in silent contemplation of the desert night. The night wind was dying as dawn approached. Above and below was one perfect blending of dusky blue, with only the faint fleck of star silver to mark the sky from the earth. Roger's nerves quickened to the wonder of the night. He turned to Charley.
"I don't feel as if I'd ever lived before," he half whispered.
"I know," replied the girl. "I don't believe a person could be a real agnostic in the desert, do you?"
"No," said Roger, simply.
"You must go to bed," repeated Charley. "And you mustn't worry any more about me." She turned to run quickly up the trail to the adobe.
Roger started campward.
He was wakened later in the morning by the sound of conversation.
"I'm sorry, madam, but I'm no cook, and I dislike olive oil, anyhow. If you'll eat the pancakes as I fry 'em, in bacon fat, you're more than welcome to all you wish. But if you want olive oil used, you must fry them yourself."