The Border Legion

"Just for that--the bloody devil!"

"But still--what for? Oh, it was cold-blooded murder."

"No, an even break. Kells made the gambler go for his gun. I'll have

to say that for Kells."

"It doesn't change the thing. I'd forgotten what a monster he is."

"Joan, his motive is plain. This new gold-camp has not reached the

blood-spilling stage yet. It hadn't, I should say. The news of this

killing will fly. It'll focus minds on this claim-buyer, Blight. His

deed rings true--like that of an honest man with a daughter to

protect. He'll win sympathy. Then he talks as if he were prosperous.

Soon he'll be represented in this changing, growing population as a

man of importance. He'll play the card for all he's worth.

Meanwhile, secretly he'll begin to rob the miners. It'll be hard to

suspect him. His plot is just like the man--great!"

"Jim, oughtn't we tell?" whispered Joan, trembling.

"I've thought of that. Somehow I seem to feel guilty. But whom on

earth could we tell? We wouldn't dare speak here. ... Remember--

you're a prisoner. I'm supposed to be a bandit--one of the Border

Legion. How to get away from here and save our lives--that's what

tortures me."

"Something tells me we'll escape, if only we can plan the right way.

Jim, I'll have to be penned here, with nothing to do but wait. You

must come every night! ... Won't you?"

For an answer he kissed her again.

"Jim, what'll you do meanwhile?" she asked, anxiously.

"I'm going to work a claim. Dig for gold. I told Kells so to-day,

and he was delighted. He said he was afraid his men wouldn't like

the working part of his plan. It's hard to dig gold. Easy to steal

it. But I'll dig a hole as big as a hill! ... Wouldn't it be funny

if I struck it rich?"

"Jim, you're getting the fever."

"Joan, if I did happen to run into a gold-pocket--there're lots of

them found--would--you--marry me?"

The tenderness, the timidity, and the yearning in Cleve's voice told

Joan as never before how he had hoped and feared and despaired. She

patted his cheek with her hand, and in the darkness, with her heart

swelling to make up for what she had done to him, she felt a

boldness and a recklessness, sweet, tumultuous, irresistible.

"Jim, I'll marry you--whether you strike gold or not," she

whispered.

And there was another blind, sweet moment. Then Cleve tore himself

away, and Joan leaned at the window, watching the shadow, with tears

in her eyes and an ache in her breast.