ere Joan was, and laying them down he began to kick and scrape stones
and brush aside.

"Pretty rocky place, this here is," he said. "Reckon you'll sleep some,
though."

Then he began arranging the blankets into a bed. Presently Joan felt a
tug at her riding-skirt. She looked down.

"I'll be right by you," he whispered, with his big hand to his mouth,
"an' I ain't a-goin' to sleep none."

Whereupon he returned to the camp-fire. Presently Joan, not because she
was tired or sleepy, but because she wanted to act naturally, lay down
on the bed and pulled a blanket up over her. There was no more talking
among the men. Once she heard the jingle of spurs and the rustle of
cedar brush. By and by Roberts came back to her, dragging his saddle,
and lay down near her. Joan raised up a little to see Kells motionless
and absorbed by the fire. He had a strained and tense position. She sank
back softly and looked up at the cold bright stars. What was going to
happen to her? Something terrible! The very night shadows, the silence,
the presence of strange men, all told her. And a shudder that was a
thrill ran over and over her.

She would lie awake. It would be impossible to sleep. And suddenly into
her full mind flashed an idea to slip away in the darkness, find her
horse, and so escape from any possible menace. This plan occupied her
thoughts for a long while. If she had not been used to Western ways she
would have tried just that thing. But she rejected it. She was not
sure that she could slip away, or find her horse, or elude pursuit,
and certainly not sure of her way home. It would be best to stay with
Roberts.

When that was settled her mind ceased to race. She grew languid and
sleepy. The warmth of the blankets stole over her. She had no idea of
sleeping, yet she found sleep more and more difficult to resist.
Time that must have been hours passed. The fire died down and then
brightened; the shadows darkened and then lightened. Someone now and
then got up to throw on wood. The thump of hobbled hoofs sounded out in
the darkness. The wind was still and the coyotes were gone. She could
no longer open her eyes. They seemed glued shut. And then gradually all
sense of the night and the wild, of the drowsy warmth, faded.

When she awoke the air was nipping cold. Her eyes snapped open clear and
bright. The tips of the cedars were ruddy in the sunrise. A camp-fire
crackled. Blue smoke curled upward. Joan sat up with a rush of memory