She gained her tent and entered.

The Mexican, Gino, as he called himself, had lighted her lamp and fire.

Carley was chilled through, and the tent felt so warm and cozy that she could scarcely believe it.

She fastened the screen door, laced the flaps across it, except at the top, and then gave herself up to the lulling and comforting heat.
There were plans to perfect; innumerable things to remember; a car and accessories, horses, saddles, outfits to buy.

Carley knew she should sit down at her table and write and figure, but she could not do it then.
For a long time she sat over the little stove, toasting her knees and hands, adding some chips now and then to the red coals.