. The pack-drivers
and Bate Wood and Frenchy rode ahead; Gulden held to the rear. And this
order was preserved till noon, when the cavalcade halted for a rest in
a shady, grassy, and well-watered nook. Kells was haggard, and his
brow wet with clammy dew, and lined with pain. Yet he was cheerful and
patient. Still he hurried the men through their tasks.

In an hour the afternoon travel was begun. The canon and its
surroundings grew more rugged and of larger dimensions. Yet the
trail appeared to get broader and better all the time. Joan noticed
intersecting trails, running down from side canons and gulches. The
descent was gradual, and scarcely evident in any way except in the
running water and warmer air.

Kells, tired before the middle of the afternoon, and he would have
fallen from his saddle but for the support of his fellows. One by one
they held him up. And it was not easy work to ride alongside, holding
him up. Joan observed that Gulden did not offer his services. He seemed
a part of this gang, yet not of it. Joan never lost a feeling of his
presence behind her, and from time to time, when he rode closer, the
feeling grew stronger. Toward the close of that afternoon she became
aware of Gulden's strange attention. And when a halt was made for camp
she dreaded something nameless.

This halt occurred early, before sunset, and had been necessitated by
the fact that Kells was fainting. They laid him out on blankets, with
his head in his saddle. Joan tended him, and he recovered somewhat,
though he lacked the usual keenness.

It was a busy hour with saddles, packs, horses, with wood to cut and
fire to build and meal to cook. Kells drank thirstily, but refused food.

"Joan," he whispered, at an opportune moment, "I'm only tired--dead for
sleep. You stay beside me. Wake me quick--if you want to!"

He closed his eyes wearily, without explaining, and soon slumbered.
Joan did not choose to allow these men to see that she feared them or
distrusted them or disliked them. She ate with them beside the fire.
And this was their first opportunity to be close to her. The fact had
an immediate and singular influence. Joan had no vanity, though she knew
she was handsome. She forced herself to be pleasant, agreeable, even
sweet. Their response was instant and growing. At first they were bold,
then familiar and coarse. For years she had been used to rough men
of the camps. These however, were different, and their jokes and
suggest