back in hope of seeing Roberts, of waving a hand to him. She saw his
horse standing saddled, and she saw Bill struggling under a pack,
but there was no sign of Roberts. Then more cedars intervened and
the camp site was lost to view. When she glanced ahead her first
thought was to take in the points of Kells's horse. She had been
used to horses all her life. Kells rode a big rangy bay--a horse
that appeared to snort speed and endurance. Her pony could never run
away from that big brute. Still Joan had the temper to make an
attempt to escape, if a favorable way presented.

The morning was rosy, clear, cool; there was a sweet, dry tang in
the air; white-tailed deer bounded out of the open spaces; and the
gray-domed, glistening mountains, with their bold, black-fringed
slopes, overshadowed the close foot-hills.

Joan was a victim to swift vagaries of thought and conflicting
emotions. She was riding away with a freebooter, a road-agent, to be
held for ransom. The fact was scarcely credible. She could not shake
the dread of nameless peril. She tried not to recall Roberts's
words, yet they haunted her. If she had not been so handsome, he had
said! Joan knew she possessed good looks, but they had never caused
her any particular concern. That Kells had let that influence him--
as Roberts had imagined--was more than absurd. Kells had scarcely
looked at her. It was gold such men wanted. She wondered what her
ransom would be, where her uncle would get it, and if there really
was a likelihood of that rich strike. Then she remembered her
mother, who had died when she was a little girl, and a strange,
sweet sadness abided with her. It passed. She saw her uncle--that
great, robust, hearty, splendid old man, with his laugh and his
kindness, and his love for her, and his everlasting unquenchable