The Border Legion

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.