"Reckon I'll go along with you, then," replied Roberts.

"Your company's not wanted."

"Wal, I'll go anyway."

This was only play at words, Joan thought. She divined in Roberts a
cold and grim acceptance of something he had expected. And the voice
of Kells--what did that convey? Still the man seemed slow, easy,
kind, amiable.

"Haven't you got any sense, Roberts?" he asked.

Roberts made no reply to that.

"Go on home. Say nothing or anything--whatever you like," continued
Kells. "You did me a favor once over in California. I like to
remember favors. Use your head now. Hit the trail."

"Not without her. I'll fight first," declared Roberts, and his hands
began to twitch and jerk.

Joan did not miss the wonderful intentness of the pale-gray eyes
that watched Roberts--his face, his glance, his hands.

"What good will it do to fight?" asked Kells. He laughed coolly.
"That won't help her ... You ought to know what you'll get."

"Kells--I'll die before I leave that girl in your clutches," flashed
Roberts. "An' I ain't a-goin' to stand here an' argue with you. Let