save him, if not herself. And the reason that she did not falter and
fail in this terrible situation was because her despair, great as it
was, did not equal her love.

That morning, before being lifted upon his horse, Kells buckled on
his gun-belt. The sheath and full round of shells and the gun made
this belt a burden for a weak man. And so Red Pearce insisted. But
Kells laughed in his face. The men, always excepting Gulden, were
unfailing in kindness and care. Apparently they would have fought
for Kells to the death. They were simple and direct in their rough
feelings. But in Kells, Joan thought, was a character who was a
product of this border wildness, yet one who could stand aloof from
himself and see the possibilities, the unexpected, the meaning of
that life. Kells knew that a man and yet another might show kindness
and faithfulness one moment, but the very next, out of a manhood
retrograded to the savage, out of the circumstance or chance, might
respond to a primitive force far sundered from thought or reason,
and rise to unbridled action. Joan divined that Kells buckled on his
gun to be ready to protect her. But his men never dreamed his
motive. Kells was a strong, bad man set among men like him, yet he
was infinitely different because he had brains.

On the start of the journey Joan was instructed to ride before Kells
and Pearce, who supported the leader in his saddle. The pack-drivers
and Bate Wood and Frenchy rode ahead; Gulden held to the rear. And
this order was preserved till noon, when the cavalcade halted for a
rest in a shady, grassy, and well-watered nook. Kells was haggard,
and his brow wet with clammy dew, and lined with pain. Yet he was
cheerful and patient. Still he hurried the men through their tasks.