disuse. Her view from both rooms was restricted to the green slope
of the gulch up to yellow crags and the sky. But she would rather
have had this to watch than an outlook upon the cabins and the
doings of these bandits.

About noon she heard the voice of Kells in low and earnest
conversation with someone; she could not, however, understand what
was said. That ceased, and then she heard Kells moving around. There
came a clatter of hoofs as a horse galloped away from the cabin,
after which a knock sounded on the wall.

"Joan," called Kells. Then the curtain was swept aside and Kells,
appearing pale and troubled, stepped into her room.

"What's the matter?" asked Joan, hurriedly.

"Gulden shot two men this morning. One's dead. The other's in bad
shape, so Red tells me. I haven't seen him."

"Who--who are they?" faltered Joan. She could not think of any man
except Jim Cleve.

"Dan Small's the one's dead. The other they call Dick. Never heard
his last name."

"Was it a fight?"

"Of course. And Gulden picked it. He's a quarrelsome man. Nobody can
go against him. He's all the time like some men when they're drunk.
I'm sorry I didn't bore him last night. I would have done it if it