man. And Joan, who knew that her power now lay in
her unattainableness, feigned a wavering reluctance, when in truth any
surrender was impossible. He left her with a spirit that her presence
gave him, in a kind of trance, radiant, yet with mocking smile, as if he
foresaw the overthrow of his soul through her, and in the light of that
his waning power over his Legion was as nothing.

In the afternoon he went down into camp to strengthen the associations
he had made, to buy claims, and to gamble. Upon his return Joan, peeping
through a crack between the boards, could always tell whether he had
been gambling, whether he had won or lost.

Most of the evenings he remained in his cabin, which after dark became
a place of mysterious and stealthy action. The members of his Legion
visited him, sometimes alone, never more than two together. Joan could
hear them slipping in at the hidden aperture in the back of the cabin;
she could hear the low voices, but seldom what was said; she could hear
these night prowlers as they departed. Afterward Kells would have the
lights lit, and then Joan could see into the cabin. Was that dark,
haggard man Kells? She saw him take little buckskin sacks full of
gold-dust and hide them under the floor. Then he would pace the room
in his old familiar manner, like a caged tiger. Later his mood usually
changed with the advent of Wood and Pearce and Smith and Cleve, who took
turns at guard and going down into camp. Then Kells would join them in
a friendly game for small stakes. Gambler though he was, he refused to
allow any game there that might lead to heavy wagering. From the talk
sometimes Joan learned that he played for exceedingly large stakes with
gamblers and prosperous miners, usually with the same result--a loss.
Sometimes he won, however, and then he would crow over Pearce and Smith,
and delight in telling them how cunningly he had played.

Jim Cleve had his bed up under the bulge of bluff, in a sheltered nook.
Kells had appeared to like this idea, for some reason relative to his
scout system, which he did not explain. And Cleve was happy about it
because this arrangement left him absolutely free to have his nightly
rendezvous with Joan at her window, sometime between dark and midnight.
Her bed was right under the window: if awake she could rest on her knees
and look out; and if she was asleep he could thrust a slender stick
between the boards to awaken her. But the fact was that Joan lived for