Kells vouchsafed no reply to this and, turning away, continued his
tasks. Joan had a close look at his eyes and again she was startled.
They were not like eyes, but just gray spaces, opaque openings, with
nothing visible behind, yet with something terrible there.

The preparations for the meal went on, somewhat constrainedly on the
part of Bill and Halloway, and presently were ended. Then the men
attended to it with appetites born of the open and of action. Joan
sat apart from them on the bank of the brook, and after she had
appeased her own hunger she rested, leaning back in the shade of an
alderbush. A sailing shadow crossed near her, and, looking up, she
saw an eagle flying above the ramparts of the canon. Then she had a
drowsy spell, but she succumbed to it only to the extent of closing
her eyes. Time dragged on. She would rather have been in the saddle.
These men were leisurely, and Kells was provokingly slow. They had
nothing to do with time but waste it. She tried to combat the desire
for hurry, for action; she could not gain anything by worry.
Nevertheless, resignation would not come to her and her hope began
to flag. Something portended evil--something hung in the balance.

The snort and tramp of horses roused her, and upon sitting up she
saw the men about to pack and saddle again. Kells had spoken to her
only twice so far that day. She was grateful for his silence, but
could not understand it. He seemed to have a preoccupied air that
somehow did not fit the amiableness of his face. He looked gentle,
good-natured; he was soft-spoken; he gave an impression of kindness.
But Joan began to realize that he was not what he seemed. He had
something on his mind. It was not conscience, nor a burden: it might
be a projection, a plan, an absorbing scheme, a something that