All Joan's fancies and dreams faded into obscurity, and when she was
aroused it seemed she had scarcely closed her eyes. But there was
the gray gloom of dawn. Jim was shaking her gently.
"No, you weren't sleepy--it's just a mistake," he said, helping her
to arise. "Now we'll get out of here."
They threaded a careful way out of the rocks, then hurried down the
slope. In the grayness Joan saw the dark shape of a cabin and it
resembled the one Kells had built. It disappeared. Presently when
Jim led her into a road she felt sure that this cabin had been the
one where she had been a prisoner for so long. They hurried down the
road and entered the camp. There were no lights. The tents and
cabins looked strange and gloomy. The road was empty. Not a sound
broke the stillness. At the bend Joan saw a stage-coach and horses
looming up in what seemed gray distance. Jim hurried her on.
They reached the stage. The horses were restive. The driver was on
the seat, whip and reins in hand. Two men sat beside him with rifles
across their knees. The door of the coach hung open. There were men
inside, one of whom had his head out of the window. The barrel of a
rifle protruded near him. He was talking in a low voice to a man
apparently busy at the traces.
"Hello, Cleve! You're late," said another man, evidently the agent.
"Climb aboard. When'll you be back?"
"I hardly know," replied Cleve, with hesitation.
"All right. Good luck to you." He closed the coach door after Joan
and Jim. "Let 'em go, Bill."
The stage started with a jerk. To Joan what an unearthly creak and
rumble it made, disturbing the silent dawn! Jim squeezed her hand
with joy. They were on the way!
Joan and Jim had a seat to themselves. Opposite sat three men--the
guard with his head half out of the window, a bearded miner who
appeared stolid or drowsy, and a young man who did not look rough
and robust enough for a prospector. None of the three paid any
particular attention to Joan and Jim.
The road had a decided slope down-hill, and Bill, the driver, had
the four horses on a trot. The rickety old stage appeared to be
rattling to pieces. It lurched and swayed, and sometimes jolted over
rocks and roots. Joan was hard put to it to keep from being bumped
off the seat. She held to a brace on one side and to Jim on the
other. And when the stage rolled down into the creek and thumped
over boulders Joan made sure that every bone in her body would be
broken. This crossing marked the mouth of the gulch, and on the
other side the road was smooth.