"Does Kells see you often--these days?" asked Jim, suddenly.
Joan had dreaded this question, which she had known would inevitably
come. She wanted to lie; she knew she ought to lie; but it was
impossible.
"Every day," she whispered. "Please--Jim--never mind that. Kells is
good--he's all right to me. ... And you and I have so little time
together."
"Good!" exclaimed Cleve. Joan felt the leap of his body under her
touch. "Why, if I'd tell you what he sends that gang to do--you'd--
you'd kill him in his sleep."
"Tell me," replied Joan. She had a morbid, irresistible desire to
learn.
"No. ... And WHAT does Kells do--when he sees you every day?"
"He talks."
"What about?"
"Oh, everything except about what holds him here. He talks to me to
forget himself."
"Does he make love to you?"
Joan maintained silence. What would she do with this changed and
hopeless Jim Cleve?
"Tell me!" Jim's hands gripped her with a force that made her wince.
And now she grew as afraid of him as she had been for him. But she
had spirit enough to grow angry, also.
"Certainly he does."
Jim Cleve echoed her first word, and then through grinding teeth he
cursed. "I'm going to--stop it!" he panted, and his eyes looked big
and dark and wild in the starlight.
"You can't. I belong to Kells. You at least ought to have sense
enough to see that."
"Belong to him! ... For God's sake! By what right?"
"By the right of possession. Might is right here on the border.
Haven't you told me that a hundred times? Don't you hold your claim-
-your gold--by the right of your strength? It's the law of this
border. To be sure Kells stole me. But just now I belong to him. And
lately I see his consideration--his kindness in the light of what he
could do if he held to that border law. ... And of all the men I've
met out here Kells is the least wild with this gold fever. He sends
his men out to do murder for gold; he'd sell his soul to gamble for
gold; but just the same, he's more of a man than---"
"Joan!" he interrupted, piercingly. "You love this bandit!"
"You're a fool!" burst out Joan.
"I guess--I--am," he replied in terrible, slow earnestness. He
raised himself and appeared to loom over her and released his hold.