Free The Man of the Desert by Grace Livingston Hill

he didn’t forget to commend her loved ones to the Almighty’s care. A sense of peace and security, unknown to her before, came upon her as she listened to the simple, earnest words.
    After the brief prayer he turned to her with a smile and some reassuring words about the night. Her dressing room was behind those trees, and she didn’t need to be afraid; he wouldn’t be far away. He’d keep the fire bright all night, so she wouldn’t be annoyed by coyotes howling too close, and then he went to gather more wood. She heard him singing, softly at first, then with increasing volume as he got farther away, his rich tenor ringing clear into the night in an old hymn. The words floated back distinctly to her listening ears:
    “My God, is any hour so sweet
    From flush of dawn to evening star,
    As that which calls me to Thy feet,
    The hour of prayer?
    Then is my strength by Thee renewed;
    Then are my sins by Thee forgiven;
    Then dost Thou cheer my solitude
    With hopes of heaven.
    No words can tell what sweet relief
    There for my every want I find;
    What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
    What peace of mind!”
    She lay down for the night, marveling still over the man. He was singing those words as if he meant them. She knew he possessed something that made him different from other men. What was it, and how did she find him out here alone in the desert?
    The great stars burned sharply in the heavens over her, the moon’s white radiance lay all about her, and the firelight played at her feet. Far away she could hear coyotes howling, but she wasn’t afraid.
    She could see the man’s broad shoulders as he bent over on the other side of the fire to throw on more wood. Presently she knew he’d stretched out on the ground with his head on the saddle, but she could hear him humming softly something like a lullaby. When the firelight flared up, it showed his fine profile.
    Some little distance away she could hear Billy cropping the grass, and throughout the vast open universe a great, peaceful silence hovered. Her tired eyes finally shut. And the last thing she remembered was a line he’d read from the little book, “He shall give his angels charge,” and she wondered if they were somewhere about now.
    That was all until she awoke with a start. She was suddenly aware of being alone, yet she could hear a conversation being carried on quietly not far away.

Chapter 7
    Revelation
    T he moon was gone, and the luminous silver atmosphere had turned into a clear dark blue, with shadows of black velvet. But the stars burned redder now and nearer to the earth.
    The fire still flickered brightly, with a glow the moon had paled. But no protecting figure rested on the other side of the flames, and the angels seemed to have forgotten.
    Off at a distance, where a clump of sagebrush made dense darkness, she heard the talking. One spoke in low tones, now pleading, now explaining, deeply earnest, with a mingling of anxiety and trouble. She couldn’t hear any words. She sensed the voice was low so she might not hear, yet it filled her with fear. What had happened? Had someone come to harm them, and was he pleading for her life? Strange to say, it never entered her head to doubt his loyalty, stranger though he was. She only felt he might have been overpowered in his sleep and need help now. But what could she do?
    After the first instant of horror she was on the alert. He’d saved her, and she must help him. She could hear only his voice. Probably the enemy was whispering, but she had to find out what was the matter. From her pleasant bed beside the fire it took only a few steps, yet it seemed like miles to her trembling heart and limbs, as she crept toward the sagebrush.
    At last she was close to the bush, parted it with her hand and peered into the little shelter.
    A faint light in the east beyond the mountains showed the coming dawn. Silhouetted against this was the figure of her rescuer, dropped upon one knee, with his elbow on the other