"Good," he exclaimed, weakly, with a light on his drawn face.
"They've been long in--getting here. How many?"

Joan counted them--five riders, and several pack-animals.

"Yes. It's Gulden."

"Gulden!" cried Joan, with a start.

Her exclamation and tone made Kells regard her attentively.

"You've heard of him? He's the toughest nut--on this border. ... I
never saw his like. You won't be safe. I'm so helpless. ... What to
say--to tell him! ... Joan, if I should happen to croak--you want
to get away quick ... or shoot yourself."

How strange to hear this bandit warn her of peril the like of which
she had encountered through him! Joan secured the gun and hid it in
a niche between the logs. Then she looked out again.

The riders were close at hand now. The foremost one, a man of
Herculean build, jumped his mount across the brook, and leaped off
while he hauled the horse to a stop. The second rider came close
behind him; the others approached leisurely, with the gait of the
pack-animals.

"Ho, Kells!" called the big man. His voice had a loud, bold,
sonorous kind of ring.