He paused on the platform and glanced at his watch. The train on which he had just arrived was late. It hurried away from the station, and was swallowed up in the blackness of the tunnel, as if it knew its own shortcomings and wished to make up for them.

The sun was already up and the grass blades were twinkling with sparkles of dew, as Marcia stepped from the kitchen door. She wore a chocolate calico with little sprigs of red and white scattered over it, her hair was in smooth brown braids down her back, and there was a flush on her round cheeks that might have been but the reflection of the rosy light in the East. Her face was as untroubled as the summer morning, in its freshness, and her eyes as dreamy as the soft clouds that hovered upon the horizon uncertain where they were to be sent for the day.

Shirley Hollister pushed back the hair from her hot forehead, pressed her hands wearily over tired eyes, then dropped her fingers again to the typewriter keys, and flew on with the letter she was writing. There was no one else in the inner office where she sat. Mr. Barnard, the senior member of the firm, whose stenographer she was, had stepped into the outer office for a moment with a telegram which he had just received.

While on her way to Arizona to teach school, beautiful Margaret Earle suddenly finds herself lost in the wilderness. When a ragged man happens across her in the middle of the night, she believes help has arrived--but he turns out to be even more threatening than the wilderness, and Margaret runs from him in desperation. Lost once more, besieged by the elements, terrified by the howling of wild beasts around her, Margaret wonders how she will survive. Enter Lance Gardley, a handsome young cowboy who rides out of the darkness to save Margaret's life--and together they discover a new...

They led her up the curtained way, where envious eyes peeped through a furtive rip in the canvas, or craned around an opening to catch a better glimpse of her loveliness, one little dark-eyed foreigner even reached out a grimy, wondering finger to the silver whiteness of her train; but she, all unknowing, trod the carpeted path as in a dream. The wedding march was just beginning. She caught the distant notes, felt the hush as she approached the audience, and wondered why the ordeal seemed so much greater now that she was actually come to the moment. If she had known it would be like this- ...