Camp was made near water. The bandits were a jovial lot, despite a
lack of food. They talked of the morrow. All--the world--lay beyond
the next sunrise. Some renounced their pipes and sought their rest
just to hurry on the day. But Gulden, tireless, sleepless, eternally
vigilant, guarded the saddle of gold and brooded over it, and seemed
a somber giant carved out of the night. And Blicky, nursing some
deep and late-developed scheme, perhaps in Kells's interest or his
own, kept watch over Gulden and all.
Jim cautioned Joan to rest, and importuned her and promised to watch
while she slept.
Joan saw the stars through her shut eyelids. All the night seemed to
press down and softly darken.
The sun was shining red when the cavalcade rode up Cabin Gulch. The
grazing cattle stopped to watch and the horses pranced and whistled.
There were flowers and flitting birds, and glistening dew on leaves,
and a shining swift flow of water--the brightness of morning and
nature smiled in Cabin Gulch.
Well indeed Joan remembered the trail she had ridden so often. How
that clump of willow where first she had confronted Jim thrilled her
now! The pines seemed welcoming her. The gulch had a sense of home
in it for her, yet it was fearful. How much had happened there! What
might yet happen!
Then a clear, ringing call stirred her pulse. She glanced up the
slope. Tall and straight and dark, there on the bench, with hand
aloft, stood the bandit Kells.