she was the prisoner of one of them. She would ask Kells who
and what this Gulden was. The log cabin was merely a shed, without
fireplace or window, and the floor was a covering of balsam boughs, long
dried out and withered. A dim trail led away from it down the canon.
If Joan was any judge of trails, this one had not seen the imprint of
a horse track for many months. Kells had indeed brought her to a hiding
place, one of those, perhaps, that camp gossip said was inaccessible to
any save a border hawk. Joan knew that only an Indian could follow the
tortuous and rocky trail by which Kells had brought her in. She would
never be tracked there by her own people.

The long ride had left her hot, dusty, scratched, with tangled hair and
torn habit. She went over to her saddle, which Kells had removed
from her pony, and, opening the saddlebag, she took inventory of her
possessions. They were few enough, but now, in view of an unexpected and
enforced sojourn in the wilds, beyond all calculation of value. And
they included towel, soap, toothbrush, mirror and comb and brush, a red
scarf, and gloves. It occurred to her how seldom she carried that bag on
her saddle, and, thinking back, referred the fact to accident, and
then with honest amusement owned that the motive might have been also
a little vanity. Taking the bag, she went to a flat stone by the brook
and, rolling up her sleeves, proceeded to improve her appearance. With
deft fingers she rebraided her hair and arranged it as she had worn
it when only sixteen. Then, resolutely, she got up and crossed over to
where Kells was unpacking.

"I'll help you get supper," she said.

He was on his knees in the midst of a jumble of camp duffle that had
been hastily thrown together. He looked up at her--from her shapely,
strong, brown arms to the face she had rubbed rosy.

"Say, but you're a pretty girl!"

He said it enthusiastically, in unstinted admiration, without the
slightest subtlety or suggestion; and if he had been the devil himself
it would have been no less a compliment, given spontaneously to youth
and beauty.

"I'm glad if it's so, but please don't tell me," she rejoined, simply.

Then with swift and business-like movements she set to helping him with
the mess the inexperienced pack-horse had made of that particular pack.
And when that was straightened out she began with the biscuit dough
while he lighted a fire. It appeared to be her skill, rather than her
willingnes