Joan saw or imagined she saw that the glances in the eyes of these
men were yellow, like gold fire. She had seen miners and prospectors
whose eyes shone with a strange glory of light that gold inspired,
but never as those of Kells's bandit Legion. Presently Joan
discovered that, despite the excitement, her effect upon them was
more marked then ever, and by a difference that she was quick to
feel. But she could not tell what this difference was--how their
attitude had changed. Then she set herself the task of being useful.
First she helped Bate Wood. He was roughly kind. She had not
realized that there was sadness about her until he whispered: "Don't
be downcast, miss. Mebbe it'll come out right yet!" That amazed
Joan. Then his mysterious winks and glances, the sympathy she felt
in him, all attested to some kind of a change. She grew keen to
learn, but she did not know how. She felt the change in all the men.
Then she went to Pearce and with all a woman's craft she exaggerated
the silent sadness that had brought quick response from Wood. Red
Pearce was even quicker. He did not seem to regard her proximity as
that of a feminine thing which roused the devil in him. Pearce could
not be other than coarse and vulgar, but there was pity in him. Joan
sensed pity and some other quality still beyond her. This lieutenant
of the bandit Kells was just as mysterious as Wood. Joan mended a
great jagged rent in his buckskin shirt. Pearce appeared proud of
her work; he tried to joke; he said amiable things. Then as she
finished he glanced furtively round; he pressed her hand: "I had a
sister once!" he whispered. And then with a dark and baleful hate:
"Kells!--he'll get his over in the gold-camp!"
Joan turned away from Pearce still more amazed. Some strange, deep
undercurrent was working here. There had been unmistakable hate for
Kells in his dark look and a fierce implication in his portent of
fatality. What had caused this sudden impersonal interest in her
situation? What was the meaning of the subtle animosity toward the
bandit leader? Was there no honor among evil men banded together for
evil deeds? Were jealousy, ferocity, hate and faithlessness fostered
by this wild and evil border life, ready at an instant's notice to
break out? Joan divined the vain and futile and tragical nature of
Kell's great enterprise. It could not succeed. It might bring a few
days or weeks of fame, of blood-stained gold, of riotous gambling,
but by its very nature it was doomed. It embraced failure and death.