Upon this he laid his bedding, two thick quilts, two or three pairs of
woolen blankets, a pillow, the whole inclosed with a long canvas sheet,
the bed tarpaulin of the cattle ranges.
"There," he said; "you can turn in whenever you feel like it."
For himself he took the saddle blankets and laid them close by the fire
within reaching distance of the woodpile, taking for cover a pack
canvas. He stretched himself full length, filled his pipe, lit it, and
fell to staring into the fire while he smoked.
Half an hour later he raised his head and looked across the fire at
Hazel.
"Why don't you go to bed?" he asked.
"I'm not sleepy," she declared, which was a palpable falsehood, for her
eyelids were even then drooping.
"Maybe not, but you need rest," Bill said quietly. "Quit thinking
things. It'll be all the same a hundred years from now. Go on to bed.
You'll be more comfortable."
Thus peremptorily commanded, Hazel found herself granting instant
obedience. The bed, as Bill had remarked, was far more comfortable
than sitting by the fire. She got into the blankets just as she stood,
even to her shoes, and drew the canvas sheet up so that it hid her
face--but did not prevent her from seeing.
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