m returning.
After all, then, he had only threatened. She felt relieved and glad, yet
vaguely sorry. She had been right in her conviction.

She had not watched long, however, before she saw that this was not the
horse Jim usually rode. She took the precaution then to hide behind some
bushes, and watched from there. When the horseman approached closer
she discerned that instead of Jim it was Harvey Roberts, a man of the
village and a good friend of her uncle's. Therefore she rode out of her
covert and hailed him. It was a significant thing that at the sound
of her voice Roberts started suddenly and reached for his gun. Then he
recognized her.

"Hello, Joan!" he exclaimed, turning her way. "Reckon you give me a
scare. You ain't alone way out here?"

"Yes. I was trailing Jim when I saw you," she replied. "Thought you were
Jim."

"Trailin' Jim! What's up?"

"We quarreled. He swore he was going to the devil. Over on the border!
I was mad and told him to go.... But I'm sorry now--and have been trying
to catch up with him."

"Ahuh!... So that's Jim's trail. I sure was wonderin'. Joan, it turns
off a few miles back an' takes the trail for the border. I know. I've
been in there."

Joan glanced up sharply at Roberts. His scarred and grizzled face seemed
grave and he avoided her gaze.

"You don't believe--Jim'll really go?" she asked, hurriedly.

"Reckon I do, Joan," he replied, after a pause. "Jim is just fool
enough. He had been gettrn' recklessler lately. An', Joan, the times
ain't provocatin' a young feller to be good. Jim had a bad fight the
other night. He about half killed young Bradley. But I reckon you know."

"I've heard nothing," she replied. "Tell me. Why did they fight?"

"Report was that Bradley talked oncomplementary about you."

Joan experienced a sweet, warm rush of blood--another new and strange
emotion. She did not like Bradley. He had been persistent and offensive.

"Why didn't Jim tell me?" she queried, half to herself.

"Reckon he wasn't proud of the shape he left Bradley in," replied
Roberts, with a laugh. "Come on, Joan, an' make back tracks for home."

Joan was silent a moment while she looked over the undulating green
ridges toward the great gray and black walls. Something stirred deep
within her. Her father in his youth had been an adventurer. She felt the
thrill and the call of her blood. And she had been unjust to a man who
loved her.

"I'm going after him," she said.

Roberts did