Her experience at the camp-fire meal inclined her to the belief
that, if there were such a possibility as her being safe at all, it
would be owing to an unconscious and friendly attitude toward the
companions she had been forced to accept. Those men were pleased,
stirred at being in her vicinity. Joan came to a melancholy and
fearful cognizance of her attraction. While at home she seldom had
borne upon her a reality--that she was a woman. Her place, her
person were merely natural. Here it was all different. To these wild
men, developed by loneliness, fierce-blooded, with pulses like
whips, a woman was something that thrilled, charmed, soothed, that
incited a strange, insatiable, inexplicable hunger for the very
sight of her. They did not realize it, but Joan did.
Presently Joan finished her supper and said: "I'll go hobble my
horse. He strays sometimes."
"Shore I'll go, miss," said Bate Wood. He had never called her Mrs.
Kells, but Joan believed he had not thought of the significance.
Hardened old ruffian that he was. Joan regarded him as the best of a
bad lot. He had lived long, and some of his life had not been bad.
"Let me go," added Pearce.
"No, thanks. I'll go myself," she replied.
She took the rope hobble off her saddle and boldly swung down the
trail. Suddenly she heard two or more of the men speak at once, and
then, low and clear: "Gulden, where'n hell are you goin'?" This was
Red Pearce's voice.
Joan glanced back. Gulden had started down the trail after her. Her
heart quaked, her knees shook, and she was ready to run back. Gulden
halted, then turned away, growling. He acted as if caught in
something surprising to himself.
"We're on to you, Gulden," continued Pearce, deliberately. "Be
careful or we'll put Kells on."
A booming, angry curse was the response. The men grouped closer and
a loud altercation followed. Joan almost ran down the trail and
heard no more. If any one of them had started her way now she would
have plunged into the thickets like a frightened deer. Evidently,
however, they meant to let her alone. Joan found her horse, and
before hobbling him she was assailed by a temptation to mount him
and ride away. This she did not want to do and would not do under
any circumstances; still, she could not prevent the natural
instinctive impulse of a woman.
She crossed to the other side of the brook and returned toward camp
under the spruce and balsam trees, She did not hurry. It was good to
be alone, out of sight of those violent men, away from that constant
wearing physical proof of catastrophe. Nevertheless, she did not
feel free or safe for a moment; she peered fearfully into the
shadows of the rocks and trees; and presently it was a relief to get
back to the side of the sleeping Kells. He lay in a deep slumber of
exhaustion. She arranged her own saddle and blankets near him, and
prepared to meet the night as best she could. Instinctively she took
a position where in one swift snatch she could get possession of
Kells's gun.