examination proved her right. In him there had been no change except
that he had ceased to bleed. There was just a flickering of life in
him, manifest only in his slow, faint heart-beats.

Joan spent most of that day in sitting beside Kells. The whole day
seemed only an hour. Sometimes she would look down the canon trail,
half expecting to see horsemen riding up. If any of Kells's comrades
happened to come, what could she tell them? They would be as bad as
he, without that one trait which had kept him human for a day. Joan
pondered upon this. It would never do to let them suspect she had
shot Kells. So, carefully cleaning the gun, she reloaded it. If any
men came, she would tell them that Bill had done the shooting.

Kells lingered. Joan began to feel that he would live, though
everything indicated the contrary. Her intelligence told her he
would die, and her feeling said he would not. At times she lifted
his head and got water into his mouth with a spoon. When she did
this he would moan. That night, during the hours she lay awake, she
gathered courage out of the very solitude and loneliness. She had
nothing to fear, unless someone came to the canon. The next day in
no wise differed from the preceding. And then there came the third
day, with no change in Kells till near evening, when she thought he
was returning to consciousness. But she must have been mistaken. For
hours she watched patiently. He might return to consciousness just
before the end, and want to speak, to send a message, to ask a
prayer, to feel a human hand at the last.

That night the crescent moon hung over the canon. In the faint light
Joan could see the blanched face of Kells, strange and sad, no
longer seeming evil. The time came when his lips stirred. He tried