She would lie awake. It would be impossible to sleep. And suddenly
into her full mind flashed an idea to slip away in the darkness,
find her horse, and so escape from any possible menace. This plan
occupied her thoughts for a long while. If she had not been used to
Western ways she would have tried just that thing. But she rejected
it. She was not sure that she could slip away, or find her horse, or
elude pursuit, and certainly not sure of her way home. It would be
best to stay with Roberts.

When that was settled her mind ceased to race. She grew languid and
sleepy. The warmth of the blankets stole over her. She had no idea
of sleeping, yet she found sleep more and more difficult to resist.
Time that must have been hours passed. The fire died down and then
brightened; the shadows darkened and then lightened. Someone now and
then got up to throw on wood. The thump of hobbled hoofs sounded out
in the darkness. The wind was still and the coyotes were gone. She
could no longer open her eyes. They seemed glued shut. And then
gradually all sense of the night and the wild, of the drowsy warmth,
faded.

When she awoke the air was nipping cold. Her eyes snapped open clear
and bright. The tips of the cedars were ruddy in the sunrise. A
camp-fire crackled. Blue smoke curled upward. Joan sat up with a
rush of memory. Roberts and Kells were bustling round the fire. The
man Bill was carrying water. The other fellow had brought in the
horses and was taking off the hobbles. No one, apparently, paid any
attention to Joan. She got up and smoothed out her tangled hair,
which she always wore in a braid down her back when she rode. She
had slept, then, and in her boots! That was the first time she had
ever done that. When she went down to the brook to bathe her face