perhaps prayed for him still, trusting he was strong and honored among
men. And here he lay, a shattered wreck, dying for a wicked act, the
last of many crimes. It was a tragedy. It made Joan think of the hard
lot of mothers, and then of this unsettled Western wild, where men
flocked in packs like wolves, and spilled blood like water, and held
life nothing.

Joan sought her rest and soon slept. In the morning she did not at once
go to Kells. Somehow she dreaded finding him conscious, almost as much
as she dreaded the thought of finding him dead. When she did bend over
him he was awake, and at sight of her he showed a faint amaze.

"Joan!" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied.

"Are you--with me still?"

"Of course, I couldn't leave you."

The pale eyes shadowed strangely, darkly. "I'm alive yet. And you
stayed!... Was it yesterday--you threw my gun--on me?"

"No. Four days ago."

"Four! Is my back broken?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It's a terrible wound. I--I did all I
could."

"You tried to kill me--then tried to save me?"

She was silent to that.

"You're good--and you've been noble," he said. "But I wish--you'd only
been bad. Then I'd curse you--and strangle you--presently."

"Perhaps you had best be quiet," replied Joan.

"No. I've been shot before. I'll get over this--if my back's not broken.
How can we tell?"

"I've no idea."

"Lift me up."

"But you might open your wound," protested Joan.

"Lift me up!" The force of the man spoke even in his low whisper.

"But why--why?" asked Joan.

"I want to see--if I can sit up. If I can't--give me my gun."

"I won't let you have it," replied Joan. Then she slipped her arms under
his and, carefully raising him to a sitting posture, released her hold.

"I'm--a--rank coward--about pain," he gasped, with thick drops standing
out on his white face. "I can't--stand it."

But tortured or not, he sat up alone, and even had the will to bend his
back. Then with a groan he fainted and fell into Joan's arms. She laid
him down and worked over him for some time before she could bring him
to. Then he was wan, suffering, speechless. But she believed he would
live and told him so. He received that with a strange smile. Later, when
she came to him with broth, he drank it gratefully.

"I'll beat this out," he said, weakly. "I'll recover. My back's not
broken. I'll get well. Now you bring water and food in here--then go."

"Go?" she echoed.

"Yes. Don't