. Even their horses were nothing to inspire
robbery. It must be that there was peril to Roberts and to her because
she was a girl, caught out in the wilds, easy prey for beasts of evil
men. She had heard of such things happening. Still, she could not
believe it possible for her. Roberts could protect her. Then this
amiable, well-spoken Kells, he was no Western rough--he spoke like an
educated man; surely he would not harm her. So her mind revolved round
fears, conjectures, possibilities; she could not find her wits. She
could not think how to meet the situation, even had she divined what the
situation was to be.

While she sat there in the shade of a cedar the men busied themselves
with camp duties. None of them appeared to pay any attention to Joan.
They talked while they worked, as any other group of campers might have
talked, and jested and laughed. Kells made a fire, and carried water,
then broke cedar boughs for later camp-fire use; one of the strangers
whom they called Bill hobbled the horses; the other unrolled the pack,
spread a tarpaulin, and emptied the greasy sacks; Roberts made biscuit
dough for the oven.

The sun sank red and a ruddy twilight fell. It soon passed. Darkness had
about set in when Roberts came over to Joan, carrying bread, coffee, and
venison.

"Here's your supper, Joan," he called, quite loud and cheerily, and then
he whispered: "Mebbe it ain't so bad. They-all seem friendly. But I'm
scared, Joan. If you jest wasn't so dam' handsome, or if only he hadn't
seen you!"

"Can't we slip off in the dark?" she whispered in return.

"We might try. But it'd be no use if they mean bad. I can't make up my
mind yet what's comin' off. It's all right for you to pretend you're
bashful. But don't lose your nerve."

Then he returned to the camp-fire. Joan was hungry. She ate and drank
what had been given her, and that helped her to realize reality. And
although dread abided with her, she grew curious. Almost she imagined
she was fascinated by her predicament. She had always been an emotional
girl of strong will and self-restraint. She had always longed for she
knew not what--perhaps freedom. Certain places had haunted her. She had
felt that something should have happened to her there. Yet nothing ever
had happened. Certain books had obsessed her, even when a child, and
often to her mother's dismay; for these books had been of wild places
and life on the sea, adventure, and bloodshed. It had always been