trailin' Miss Randle's favorite hoss. He's lost. An' we got farther
'n we had any idee. Then my hoss went lame. 'Fraid we can't start
home to-night."

"Where are you from?"

"Hoadley. Bill Hoadley's town, back thirty miles or so."

"Well, Roberts, if you've no objection we'll camp here with you,"
continued Kells. "We've got some fresh meat."

With that he addressed a word to his comrades, and they repaired to
a cedar-tree near-by, where they began to unsaddle and unpack.

Then Roberts, bending nearer Joan, as if intent on his own pack,
began to whisper, hoarsely: "That's Jack Kells, the California road-
agent. He's a gun fighter--a hell-bent rattlesnake. When I saw him
last he had a rope round his neck an' was bein' led away to be
hanged. I heerd afterward he was rescued by pals. Joan, if the idee
comes into his head he'll kill me. I don't know what to do. For
God's sake think of somethin'! ... Use your woman's wits! ... We
couldn't be in a wuss fix!"

Joan felt rather unsteady on her feet, so that it was a relief to
sit down. She was cold and sick inwardly, almost stunned. Some great
peril menaced her. Men like Roberts did not talk that way without
cause. She was brave; she was not unused to danger. But this must be
a different kind, compared with which all she had experienced was
but insignificant. She could not grasp Roberts's intimation. Why
should he be killed? They had no gold, no valuables. Even their