The Border Legion

"You go outside," ordered Cleve. "Get on a horse and lead another

near the door. ... Go! I'll take you away from this."

Both temptation and terror assailed Joan. Surely that venture would

mean only death to Jim and worse for her. She thrilled at the

thought--at the possibility of escape--at the strange front of this

erstwhile nerveless boy. But she had not the courage for what seemed

only desperate folly.

"I'll stay," she whispered. "You go!"

"Hurry, woman!"

"No! No!"

"Do you want to stay with this bandit?"

"Oh, I must!"

"Then you love him?"

All the fire of Joan's heart flared up to deny the insult and all

her woman's cunning fought to keep back words that inevitably must

lead to revelation. She drooped, unable to hold up under her shame,

yet strong to let him think vilely of her, for his sake. That way

she had a barest chance.

"Get out of my sight!" he ejaculated, thickly. "I'd have fought for

you."

Again that white, weary scorn radiated from him. Joan bit her tongue

to keep from screaming. How could she live under this torment? It

was she, Joan Randle, that had earned that scorn, whether he knew

her or not. She shrank back, step by step, almost dazed, sick with a

terrible inward, coldness, blinded by scalding tears. She found her

door and stumbled in.

"Kells, I'm what you called me." She heard Cleve's voice, strangely

far off. "There's no excuse ... unless I'm not just right in my head

about women. ... Overlook my break or don't--as you like. But if you

want me I'm ready for your Border Legion!"