For a man as weak and weary as he had been, it was remarkable how
quickly a touch awakened him. He lifted his head.
"Hello! Who's that?" he called out, sharply.
Pearce rose guardedly, startled, but not confused. "It's only me,
boss," he replied. "I was about to turn in, an' I wanted to know how
you are--if I could do anythin'."
"I'm all right, Red," replied Kells, coolly. "Clear out and let me
alone. All of you."
Pearce moved away with an amiable good-night and joined the others
at the camp-fire. Presently they sought their blankets, leaving
Gulden hunching there silent in the gloom.
"Joan, why did you wake me?" whispered Kells.
"Pearce asked me if I shot you," replied Joan. "I woke you instead
of answering him."
"He did!" exclaimed Kells under his breath. Then he laughed. "Can't
fool that gang. I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe it'd be well if
they knew you shot me."
He appeared thoughtful, and lay there with the fading flare of the
fire on his pale face. But he did not speak again. Presently he fell
asleep.
Joan leaned back, within reach of him, with her head in her saddle,
and pulling a blanket up over her, relaxed her limbs to rest. Sleep
seemed the furthest thing from her. She wondered that she dared to
think of it. The night had grown chilly; the wind was sweeping with
low roar through the balsams; the fire burned dull and red. Joan
watched the black, shapeless hulk that she knew to be Gulden. For a
long time he remained motionless. By and by he moved, approached the
fire, stood one moment in the dying ruddy glow, his great breadth
and bulk magnified, with all about him vague and shadowy, but the
more sinister for that. The cavernous eyes were only black spaces in
that vast face, yet Joan saw them upon her. He lay down then among
the other men and soon his deep and heavy breathing denoted the
tranquil slumber of an ox.
For hours through changing shadows and starlight Joan lay awake,
while a thousand thoughts besieged her, all centering round that
vital and compelling one of Jim Cleve.
Only upon awakening, with the sun in her face, did Joan realize that
she had actually slept.
The camp was bustling with activity. The horses were in, fresh and
quarrelsome, with ears laid back. Kells was sitting upon a rock near
the fire with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was looking better.
When he greeted Joan his voice sounded stronger. She walked by
Pearce and Frenchy and Gulden on her way to the brook, but they took
no notice of her. Bate Wood, however, touched his sombrero and said:
"Mornin', miss." Joan wondered if her memory of the preceding night
were only a bad dream. There was a different atmosphere by daylight,
and it was dominated by Kells. Presently she returned to camp
refreshed and hungry. Gulden was throwing a pack, which action he
performed with ease and dexterity. Pearce was cinching her saddle.
Kells was talking, more like his old self than at any time since his
injury.