"Where shall I ride?" asked Joan.
"Anywhere you like up and down the gulch."
"Are you going to have me watched?"
"Not if you say you won't run off."
"You trust me?"
"Yes."
"All right. I promise. And if I change my mind I'll tell you."
"Lord! don't do it, Joan. I--I--Well, you've come to mean a good
deal to me. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." As she mounted
the horse Kells added, "Don't stand any raw talk from any of the
gang."
Joan rode away, pondering in mind the strange fact that though she
hated this bandit, yet she had softened toward him. His eyes lit
when he saw her; his voice mellowed; his manner changed. He had
meant to tell her again that he loved her, yet he controlled it. Was
he ashamed? Had he seen into the depths of himself and despised what
he had imagined love? There were antagonistic forces at war within
him.
It was early morning and a rosy light tinged the fresh green. She
let the eager horse break into a canter and then a gallop; and she
rode up the gulch till the trail started into rough ground. Then
turning, she went back, down under the pines and by the cabins, to
where the gulch narrowed its outlet into the wide valley. Here she
met several dusty horsemen driving a pack-train. One, a jovial
ruffian, threw up his hands in mock surrender.
"Hands up, pards!" he exclaimed. "Reckon we've run agin' Dandy Dale
come to life."
His companions made haste to comply and then the three regarded her
with bold and roguish eyes. Joan had run square into them round a
corner of slope and, as there was no room to pass, she had halted.
"Shore it's the Dandy Dale we heerd of," vouchsafed another.
"Thet's Dandy's outfit with a girl inside," added the third.
Joan wheeled her horse and rode back up the trail. The glances of
these ruffians seemed to scorch her with the reality of her
appearance. She wore a disguise, but her womanhood was more manifest
in it than in her feminine garb. It attracted the bold glances of
these men. If there were any possible decency among them, this
outrageous bandit costume rendered it null. How could she ever
continue to wear it? Would not something good and sacred within her
be sullied by a constant exposure to the effect she had upon these
vile border men? She did not think it could while she loved Jim
Cleve; and with thought of him came a mighty throb of her heart to
assure her that nothing mattered if only she could save him.