wildness, the loneliness, been so vivid to her.

Roberts was on his knees, scouring his oven with wet sand. His big,
shaggy head nodded in the firelight. He seemed pondering and thick
and slow. There was a burden upon him. The man Bill and his
companion lay back against stones and conversed low. Kells stood up
in the light of the blaze. He had a pipe at which he took long pulls
and then sent up clouds of smoke. There was nothing imposing in his
build or striking in his face, at that distance; but it took no
second look to see here was a man remarkably out of the ordinary.
Some kind of power and intensity emanated from him. From time to
time he appeared to glance in Joan's direction; still, she could not
be sure, for his eyes were but shadows. He had cast aside his coat.
He wore a vest open all the way, and a checked soft shirt, with a
black tie hanging untidily. A broad belt swung below his hip and in
the holster was a heavy gun. That was a strange place to carry a
gun, Joan thought. It looked awkward to her. When he walked it might
swing round and bump against his leg. And he certainly would have to
put it some other place when he rode.

"Say, have you got a blanket for that girl?" asked Kells, removing
his pipe from his lips to address Roberts.

"I got saddle-blankets," responded Roberts. "You see, we didn't
expect to be caught out."

"I'll let you have one," said Kells, walking away from the fire. "It
will be cold." He returned with a blanket, which he threw to
Roberts.