significant points about Roberts's sorrel--a white left front foot,
an old diamond brand, a ragged forelock, and an unusual marking, a
light bar across his face. When Joan had recalled these, she felt so
certain that she would find them on this pack-horse that she was
afraid to open her eyes. She forced herself to look, and it seemed
that in one glance she saw three of them. Still she clung to hope.
Then the horse, picking his way, partially turning toward her,
disclosed the bar across his face.

Joan recognized it. Roberts was not on his way home. Kells had lied.
Kells had killed him. How plain and fearful the proof! It verified
Roberts's gloomy prophecy. Joan suddenly grew sick and dizzy. She
reeled in her saddle. It was only by dint of the last effort of
strength and self-control that she kept her seat. She fought the
horror as if it were a beast. Hanging over the pommel, with shut
eyes, letting her pony find the way, she sustained this shock of
discovery and did not let it utterly overwhelm her. And as she
conquered the sickening weakness her mind quickened to the changed
aspect of her situation. She understood Kells and the appalling
nature of her peril. She did not know how she understood him now,
but doubt had utterly fled. All was clear, real, grim, present. Like
a child she had been deceived, for no reason she could see. That
talk of ransom was false. Likewise Kells's assertion that he had
parted company with Halloway and Bill because he would not share the
ransom--that, too, was false. The idea of a ransom, in this light,
was now ridiculous. From that first moment Kells had wanted her; he
had tried to persuade Roberts to leave her, and, failing, had killed
him; he had rid himself of the other two men--and now Joan knew she
had heard shots back there. Kells's intention loomed out of all his
dark brooding, and it stood clear now to her, dastardly, worse than