restless and active hours, then strangely, she remembered Jim Cleve.
Memory of him came to save her. She dreamed of him during the long,
lonely, solemn days, and in the dark, silent climax of unbearable
solitude--the night. She remembered his kisses, forgot her anger and
shame, accepted the sweetness of their meaning, and so in the
interminable hours of her solitude she dreamed herself into love for
him.

Joan kept some record of days, until three weeks or thereabout
passed, and then she lost track of time. It dragged along, yet
looked at as the past, it seemed to have sped swiftly. The change in
her, the growing old, the revelation and responsibility of serf, as
a woman, made this experience appear to have extended over months.

Kells slowly became convalescent and then he had a relapse.
Something happened, the nature of which Joan could not tell, and he
almost died. There were days when his life hung in the balance, when
he could not talk; and then came a perceptible turn for the better.

The store of provisions grew low, and Joan began to face another
serious situation. Deer and rabbit were plentiful in the canon, but
she could not kill one with a revolver. She thought she would be
forced to sacrifice one of the horses. The fact that Kells suddenly
showed a craving for meat brought this aspect of the situation to a
climax. And that very morning while Joan was pondering the matter
she saw a number of horsemen riding up the canon toward the cabin.
At the moment she was relieved, and experienced nothing of the dread
she had formerly felt while anticipating this very event.

"Kells," she said, quickly, "there are men riding up the trail."