himself the menace.

"_I_ CRAWL!" he said, huskily. "She speaks the God's truth.... But you
can't help matters by killing me. Maybe she'd be worse off!"

He expected this wild boy to break loose, yet his wit directed him to
speak the one thing calculated to check Cleve.

"Oh, don't shoot!" moaned Joan.

"You go outside," ordered Cleve. "Get on a horse and lead another near
the door.... Go! I'll take you away from this."

Both temptation and terror assailed Joan. Surely that venture would mean
only death to Jim and worse for her. She thrilled at the thought--at the
possibility of escape--at the strange front of this erstwhile nerveless
boy. But she had not the courage for what seemed only desperate folly.

"I'll stay," she whispered. "You go!"

"Hurry, woman!"

"No! No!"

"Do you want to stay with this bandit?"

"Oh, I must!"

"Then you love him?"

All the fire of Joan's heart flared up to deny the insult and all her
woman's cunning fought to keep back words that inevitably must lead to
revelation. She drooped, unable to hold up under her shame, yet strong
to let him think vilely of her, for his sake. That way she had a barest
chance.

"Get out of my sight!" he ejaculated, thickly. "I'd have fought for
you."

Again that white, weary scorn radiated from him. Joan bit her tongue to
keep from screaming. How could she live under this torment? It was she,
Joan Randle, that had earned that scorn, whether he knew her or not. She
shrank back, step by step, almost dazed, sick with a terrible inward,
coldness, blinded by scalding tears. She found her door and stumbled in.

"Kells, I'm what you called me." She heard Cleve's voice, strangely far
off. "There's no excuse... unless I'm not just right in my head about
women.... Overlook my break or don't--as you like. But if you want me
I'm ready for your Border Legion!"

12

Those bitter words of Cleve's, as if he mocked himself, were the last
Joan heard, and they rang in her ears and seemed to reverberate through
her dazed mind like a knell of doom. She lay there, all blackness about
her, weighed upon by an insupportable burden; and she prayed that day
might never dawn for her; a nightmare of oblivion ended at last with her
eyes opening to the morning light.

She was cold and stiff. She had lain uncovered all the long hours of
night. She had not moved a finger since she had fallen upon the bed,
crushed by those bitter words with which Cleve had consented