The long ride had left her hot, dusty, scratched, with tangled hair
and torn habit. She went over to her saddle, which Kells had removed
from her pony, and, opening the saddlebag, she took inventory of her
possessions. They were few enough, but now, in view of an unexpected
and enforced sojourn in the wilds, beyond all calculation of value.
And they included towel, soap, toothbrush, mirror and comb and
brush, a red scarf, and gloves. It occurred to her how seldom she
carried that bag on her saddle, and, thinking back, referred the
fact to accident, and then with honest amusement owned that the
motive might have been also a little vanity. Taking the bag, she
went to a flat stone by the brook and, rolling up her sleeves,
proceeded to improve her appearance. With deft fingers she rebraided
her hair and arranged it as she had worn it when only sixteen. Then,
resolutely, she got up and crossed over to where Kells was
unpacking.
"I'll help you get supper," she said.
He was on his knees in the midst of a jumble of camp duffle that had
been hastily thrown together. He looked up at her--from her shapely,
strong, brown arms to the face she had rubbed rosy.
"Say, but you're a pretty girl!"
He said it enthusiastically, in unstinted admiration, without the
slightest subtlety or suggestion; and if he had been the devil
himself it would have been no less a compliment, given spontaneously
to youth and beauty.
"I'm glad if it's so, but please don't tell me," she rejoined,
simply.
Then with swift and business-like movements she set to helping him
with the mess the inexperienced pack-horse had made of that
particular pack. And when that was straightened out she began with
the biscuit dough while he lighted a fire. It appeared to be her
skill, rather than her willingness, that he yielded to. He said very
little, but he looked at her often. And he had little periods of
abstraction. The situation was novel, strange to him. Sometimes Joan
read his mind and sometimes he was an enigma. But she divined when
he was thinking what a picture she looked there, on her knees before
the bread-pan, with flour on her arms; of the difference a girl
brought into any place; of how strange it seemed that this girl,
instead of lying a limp and disheveled rag under a tree, weeping and
praying for home, made the best of a bad situation and unproved it
wonderfully by being a thoroughbred.
Presently they sat down, cross-legged, one on each side of the
tarpaulin, and began the meal. That was the strangest supper Joan
ever sat down to; it was like a dream where there was danger that
tortured her; but she knew she was dreaming and would soon wake up.
Kells was almost imperceptibly changing. The amiability of his face
seemed to have stiffened. The only time he addressed her was when he
offered to help her to more meat or bread or coffee. After the meal
was finished he would not let her wash the pans and pots, and
attended to that himself.