I
saw that dead gambler kicked."

"Jim!" breathed Joan. "He killed him--just for that?"

"Just for that--the bloody devil!"

"But still--what for? Oh, it was cold-blooded murder."

"No, an even break. Kells made the gambler go for his gun. I'll have to
say that for Kells."

"It doesn't change the thing. I'd forgotten what a monster he is."

"Joan, his motive is plain. This new gold-camp has not reached the
blood-spilling stage yet. It hadn't, I should say. The news of this
killing will fly. It'll focus minds on this claim-buyer, Blight. His
deed rings true--like that of an honest man with a daughter to protect.
He'll win sympathy. Then he talks as if he were prosperous. Soon
he'll be represented in this changing, growing population as a man of
importance. He'll play the card for all he's worth. Meanwhile, secretly
he'll begin to rob the miners. It'll be hard to suspect him. His plot is
just like the man--great!"

"Jim, oughtn't we tell?" whispered Joan, trembling.

"I've thought of that. Somehow I seem to feel guilty. But whom on
earth could we tell? We wouldn't dare speak here.... Remember--you're a
prisoner. I'm supposed to be a bandit--one of the Border Legion. How to
get away from here and save our lives--that's what tortures me."

"Something tells me we'll escape, if only we can plan the right way.
Jim, I'll have to be penned here, with nothing to do but wait. You must
come every night!... Won't you?"

For an answer he kissed her again.

"Jim, what'll you do meanwhile?" she asked, anxiously.

"I'm going to work a claim. Dig for gold. I told Kells so to-day, and he
was delighted. He said he was afraid his men wouldn't like the working
part of his plan. It's hard to dig gold. Easy to steal it. But I'll dig
a hole as big as a hill!... Wouldn't it be funny if I struck it rich?"

"Jim, you're getting the fever."

"Joan, if I did happen to run into a gold-pocket--there're lots of them
found--would--you--marry me?"

The tenderness, the timidity, and the yearning in Cleve's voice told
Joan as never before how he had hoped and feared and despaired. She
patted his cheek with her hand, and in the darkness, with her heart
swelling to make up for what she had done to him, she felt a boldness
and a recklessness, sweet, tumultuous, irresistible.

"Jim, I'll marry you--whether you strike gold or not," she whispered.

And there was another blind, sweet moment. Then Cleve tore himself away,
and Joan leaned at th