Have you ever slept under the stars before—that is, of course, with the exception of last night? I don’t suppose you really enjoyed that experience.”

Hazel shuddered at the thought.

“I don’t remember much, only awful darkness and howling. Will those creatures come this way, do you think? I think I’ll die of fright if I have to hear them again.”

“You may hear them in the distance, but not close,” he answered reassuringly. “They don’t like the fire. They won’t come near or disturb you. Besides, I’ll be here all night. I’m used to listening and waking in the night. I’ll keep a bright fire blazing.”

“But you—you—what will you do? You’re planning to give me the canvas and blanket and stay awake keeping watch. You walked all day while I rode, and you’re nurse and cook as well, while I’ve been good for nothing. And now you want me to rest comfortably all night while you sit up.”

The ring in the young man’s voice thrilled her heart.

“Oh, I’ll be all right,” he said, and his voice was joyous. “And I’ll have the greatest night of my life taking care of you. I count it a privilege. Many nights I’ve slept alone under the stars with no one to guard, and I felt lonely. Now I’ll always have this to remember. Besides, I won’t sit up. I’m used to throwing myself down anywhere. My clothing’s warm, and my saddle’s used to acting as a pillow. I’ll sleep and rest, but I’ll still be alert to keep up the fire and hear any sound that comes close.”

He talked as if he were recounting the plan of some delightful recreation, and the girl lay there and watched his handsome face in the firelight and rejoiced. She found something very sweet in companionship alone in the vast silence with this stranger friend. She was glad of the wide desert and the still night that shut out the world and made their unusual relationship possible for a little while. She longed to know and understand better the fine personality of this man who was, she believed, a man among men.

When he sat down by the fire not far from her after attending to the few supper dishes, she suddenly burst forth with a question: “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, turning to her.

“Come here! Be a missionary! Why did you do it? You’re suited for better things. You could fill a large city church, or—even do other things in the world. Why did you do it?”

The firelight flickered on his face and showed his features fine and strong in an expression of deep feeling. A light shone in his eyes that was more than firelight as he raised them upward in a swift glance and said quietly, as if it were the simplest matter in the universe: “Because my Father called me to this work. And—I doubt if there can be any better.”

Then he told her of his work while the fire burned cheerfully, and the dusk grew deeper, till the moon showed clear its silver orb riding high in the starry heavens. The mournful voice of the coyotes echoed in the distance, but the girl wasn’t frightened. Her thoughts were held by the story of the people for whom this man among men was giving his life.

He described the Indian hogans, round huts built of logs on end and slanting to a common center thatched with turf and straw, with an opening for a door and another in the top to let out the fire’s smoke, a dirt floor, no furniture but a few blankets, sheepskins, and some tin dishes. He carried her in imagination to one such hogan where the Indian maiden lay dying and made the picture of their barren lives so vivid that tears stood in her eyes as she listened. He told her about the medicine men, the ignorance and superstition, the snake dances and heathen rites, and the wild, poetic, conservative man of the desert with his distrust, his great loving heart, his broken hopes, and blind aspirations. At length Hazel understood he really loved them, saw the possibility of greatness in them, and longed to help develop it.

He told her about the Sabbath just past, when he and his fellow missionary went on an evangelistic tour among the tribes far away from the mission station. He described the Indians sitting on rocks and stones amid the long shadows of the cedar trees, just before sundown, listening to a sermon.