aybe her heart
is breaking now!"

A strong, muscular ripple went over Cleve, ending in a gesture of fierce
protest. Was it pain her words caused, or disgust that such as she dared
mention the girl he had loved? Joan could not tell. She only knew
that Cleve was drawn by her presence, fascinated and repelled, subtly
responding to the spirit of her, doubting what he heard and believing
with his eyes.

"You beg me not to become a bandit?" he asked, slowly, as if revolving a
strange idea.

"Oh, I implore you!"

"Why?"

"I told you. Because you're still good at heart. You've only been
wild.... Because--"

"Are you the wife of Kells?" he flashed at her.

A reply seemed slowly wrenched from Joan's reluctant lips. "No!"

The denial left a silence behind it. The truth that all knew when spoken
by her was a kind of shock. The ruffians gaped in breathless attention.
Kells looked on with a sardonic grin, but he had grown pale. And upon
the face of Cleve shone an immeasurable scorn.

"Not his wife!" exclaimed Cleve, softly.

His tone was unendurable to Joan. She began to shrink. A flame curled
within her. How he must hate any creature of her sex!

"And you appeal to me!" he went on. Suddenly a weariness came over him.
The complexity of women was beyond him. Almost he turned his back upon
her. "I reckon such as you can't keep me from Kells--or blood--or hell!"

"Then you're a narrow-souled weakling--born to crime!" she burst out in
magnificent wrath. "For however appearances are against me--I am a good
woman!"

That stunned him, just as it drew Kells upright, white and watchful.
Cleve seemed long in grasping its significance. His face was half
averted. Then he turned slowly, all strung, and his hands clutched
quiveringly at the air. No man of coolness and judgment would have
addressed him or moved a step in that strained moment. All expected some
such action as had marked his encounter with Luce and Gulden.

Then Cleve's gaze in unmistakable meaning swept over Joan's person. How
could her appearance and her appeal be reconciled? One was a lie! And
his burning eyes robbed Joan of spirit.

"He forced me to--to wear these," she faltered. "I'm his prisoner. I'm
helpless."

With catlike agility Cleve leaped backward, so that he faced all the
men, and when his hands swept to a level they held gleaming guns. His
utter abandon of daring transfixed these bandits in surprise as much as
fear. Kells appeared to take most to